


Hope Will Have to Do

by 2towels



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura and Shiro and Coran are way more included from this point on, Alternate Universe - Heroes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Keith's a scary driver, Kinda, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), The Vigilante AU everyone wanted, except also, it's complicated because of civilian forms, tags will change as needed with each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:26:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9069478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2towels/pseuds/2towels
Summary: The day Lance McClain decided to be a hero, he did it with clenched fists and a hoarse voice down an alley. He did it with a garbage can lid facing a giant man—like Captain fucking America—who wouldn't stop kicking a poor downed woman. It was without hesitation.—A vigilante AU.





	1. Enter the Blue Paladin

     The day Lance McClain decided to be a hero, he did it with clenched fists and a hoarse voice down an alley. He did it with a garbage can lid facing a giant man—like Captain fucking America—who wouldn't stop _kicking_ a poor downed woman. It was without hesitation.  
  
      Lance wasn't impulsive. He knew he seemed it, with how it was easy to get a rise out of him when he was frustrated with the freezer situation at work--the bakery items, surprise surprise, go in the bakery freezer, Keith--but it didn't truly come to his nature to jump completely into the fray. He liked to think about his situations, his actions, his words, even if he did come across as doing none of that more than half the time. So, he was a nervous flirter, sue him. That being said, he was even less impulsive than his usual lack thereof when he was walking home. His mother used to warn him daily when he was younger about standing out too much, and so he adapted to being quieter in public eyes. Something about commanding attention and taking the world by storm was both of interest and a threat to the Galra 'Empire', as they liked to call themselves, and the last thing Lance needed was to be picked on or up by a Galra Grunt trying to recruit.

      So, he kept his head down low, shuffling his way home from work at an even pace. No eye-contact with strangers, no challenging looks, no paying attention to anything except maybe the occasional young woman who also happens to be on the street at the same time as him. In any other situation, he'd almost leer, he'd bring himself to flirt with utter strangers in the daylight, but nighttime in Arus was different. Night had Lance, sweet and blissfully flirty Lance, watching people that looked like they had low defense skills like a hawk. He probably looked a little predatory as he kept a half gaze on the woman forty feet across the street in front of him, but it was a practiced measure of caution. He wouldn't follow her, obviously, then he was just as creepy as the Galra, but as long as they were together, shuffling in the same pace with downcast eyes, he felt it was his responsibility to make sure that at least along his own journey nobody got hurt. He kept his eyes on her in a small and feeble attempt to keep the streets safer. If he could do that for her, watch out for this woman, then maybe somebody out there could watch out for his cousins and siblings when he couldn't be there. It was an important and symbolic gesture to keep a watchful eye on the woman down the street from him, no matter how vaguely creepy he felt when he got home and the expression was still stuck on his face sometimes.

      His home was only a fifteen minute walk from Altean Markets, where he worked, which was a five minute sprint and a twenty minute shuffle. He'd been jumped twice in the last few weeks, so his guard was a little more up than normal, but he tried to rationalize that he didn't have anything of value to fear for on him anyway. It would be useless to work himself up in a shuffling worry over the fifteen dollars in his pocket and maybe a few bruises.

      He saw the grunt come from the shadows of the alley and halted, staring at the woman as her arm was pulled forcefully from the bag on her back. She hit the ground between the two buildings as the bag was ripped all the way off. She whimpered. Lance stared, knees locked as they always were when he realized it was happening near him, not letting himself move on. He cursed the dimly lit streets first, then the city for not having better management of their electricity, then the city for not having better management of the gang, then the gang itself. Lance was frozen, not breathing, as he watched the contents of the woman's bag fall onto the pavement. His face was hardened as he stared across the street, watching a thick boot kick through the woman's possessions, and he felt a hard and cold feeling in his chest, as if an ice boulder had just settled there in the last few minutes.

      Lance's legs carried him _impulsively_ far before he could stop himself, taking long strides across and up the street, his fists clenched tightly at his sides and footsteps full of purpose he wasn't sure had come from his own person. A heavy breath he felt like he'd been holding for an hour came through his nostrils hot as he watched the same shuffling thick boot swing back and connect with the woman's side. Her sharp cry split through the air, and Lance felt goosebumps but pressed on. Then another kick. Then another.

      The garbage can lid was without a garbage can itself, lying on the side of the road pathetically and abandoned, waiting perfectly for Lance to fluidly sweep it up as he approached the grunt. "Hey!" Came from the lanky boy's throat, hoarse and almost a whisper, but surprising enough to the much bulkier gang member to get his attention as Lance crashed the garbage can lid immediately down on the grunt's head and shoulders.

     The grunt spun around in an instant, making a grab for the lid as the woman crawled frantically and pitifully away a few paces down the alley. Lance was fast, thankfully, and knew he could at least outrun this man to a different street once his brain decided to catch up to what his body had interfered in. He sidestepped the larger man's grabby hands with more hot exhales than he remembered inhaling, gasping and feeling cold when the bulky man's shoulder hit him into the wall. Despite the blow, Lance's grip on his garbage can lid stayed tight, knuckles white with the pressure they were giving the makeshift weapon. When he saw the grunt reach into a pocket, he had the winded sense to swing the lid hard into the man's wrist, satisfied at the sharp hiss the man gave at the contact and sidestepping another charge from him. When he was past him, he turned and jumped from behind, bashing him over the head with the lid once, then twice. They fell in a heap, Lance's arm half pinned under his shoulder from where he'd been hanging on, and it took a little wiggling before the unconscious man was pushed aside and out of the way not only for Lance's limb, but for the poor woman's items.

      A lot of sensations were going through Lance's head at once. As soon as he stood from rolling the man off of his arm, he immediately fell back down to his knees, breathing heavily and touching his cold cheeks, realizing they were very, very wet--Was he _crying_?

      He kept one hand on his face, hurriedly wiping away the wetness there while his other hand was scurrying around to gather items and throw them into the woman's purse. She joined him only after a moment and a half, breathing heavy and trying to work with her shaking hands. As soon as everything was in the bag they stood at the same time and, without speaking, fell into step in a fast pace down the street, leaving the grunt behind.

      They followed the rules again despite the speed, keeping their heads down and not speaking a word to one another. Lance walked with her down three blocks before she stopped at a corner and turned to him. He paused, met her gaze, and tried to relieve the scowl he had formed while deep in thought.

      "Thanks, Blue." Was all she said, resting a still shaky hand on his bicep before turning and taking long strides down her street. Lance needed to go the other way, so the parting worked out, but he stood rooted and confused for a moment watching her.

      When he cast his gaze down again as he turned, he noticed for what seemed like the first time today the electric blue hoodie he had on, and understood. He didn't blame her for not wanting to know his name, as he hadn't been interested in hers so much as her safety, but there was a feeling of finality in the way she had said it. He felt dubbed--knighted, even--and couldn't shake the feeling all the while he was walking home.

     As he finally did ascend the steps to his porch, hearing the hum of activity inside the lit living room and seeing shadows move past windows, he realized fully that he had absolutely stolen the origin story fight scene from Captain America. His brain asked _Origin story for what, Lance?_ and his body ignored his mind, knowing the answer quietly. He had just literally beaten up a bad guy. He couldn't contain himself, grinning wide but uncertainly as younger siblings and family crowded around him at his return. That was, he could say fairly, one of the most badass things he'd ever done.

     His mother fretted over him, patting his cheeks and wondering why he was a little later than normal. Any other day, she would have assumed he was caught by someone (though he could see the first aid kit was already on the dining room table waiting for him), but she caught his grin with her own confusion and worry and seemed to lighten up at his own supposed mood. Still, she looked on at him carefully while he scooped up some of the smaller children, moseying his way down the hall to his own room and depositing children at their respective sleeping areas as he paved along. He was the oldest child in the house now, so he was the only one with his own room (which made him a little guilty lately, knowing Simon, who was just a year under him, was suffering tremendously with his younger brothers), but he'd been talking with Hunk, his best friend, often about getting an apartment with their collective savings, knowing they could get one on the edge of the slums instead of in the center of most of the gang chaos.

     "Yo, Lance." He hadn't noticed Simon already in his room until he was halfway through getting out of his work clothes, jumping to turn towards his younger brother as he lounged on his bed. Simon seemed satisfied at his surprise, though Lance was completely scowling, and took the opportunity to scare him harder with a sudden cry from an air horn in his hand.

     Lance hissed, jumping again and lunging forward to tear the thing from his brother's hand. "Get out of here, you little monster." He called, holding the air horn far above his head while Simon laughed. It was a usual batch of antics between them, scaring one another with gags and tackles when the other was least expecting, and it was a sacred and treasured part of their relationship of being little shits to one another, but Lance couldn't help but be a little on edge with the night's events.

     Simon, thankfully, seemed to realize his edge once his laughter died down, rolling to his feet and quirking his brows at Lance. "Long night?" He asked casually, holding out a hand for his air horn back while he moved to leave the room.

     "Something like that." Was all Lance said, sticking his tongue out and throwing the air horn into the abyss of his closet. It was a mess of clothes and boxes and old toys Lance would never clean, and Simon groaned loudly at the addition of the air horn.

     "I just bought that, dude, come on." But it was already gone, and they both knew going through there was a lost cause. Lance only chuckled as Simon left, and he seemed satisfied.

     Once it was quiet again in his room, the only sounds being the fabric of his clothes rustling as he stripped and prepared for a shower, he replayed the night's events a few times in his head. His fingers flexed each time he remembered the feeling of the garbage can lid in his hands and the pressure he had put on it. Before he left his room to actually go shower, he sat on the edge of his bed clad only in his towel and opened his nightstand. In the bottom drawer, behind a few loose papers and candy wrappers he'd clean out someday, laid a heavy yellow and black taser gun. It was a gift from one of his older cousins, Leo, when he had turned fifteen. When he had made a small joke about being the ripe age for being picked up by the Galra.

     He usually never touched it, only ever pulling it out to check on the batteries and maybe change them every few months just in case. _Just in case of what?_ He always reminded himself while he was pulling out batteries, knowing he never carried it before and certainly wouldn't start anytime soon.

     In case of situations like tonight, where he was barely able to help a stranger getting brutalized in the street. Lance didn't even pull it out of the drawer, content to look at it through the shuffle of papers a few long moments before closing the nightstand again and heading off to his shower.

     Something about the water tended to calm Lance more than anything. He attributed it to growing up in this city, just half an hour from the beach. It called it him when he was tense, and was the first thing he thought of when he needed to get rid of such tension. He milked the hot water on his skin as long as he could, almost forgetting to even wash himself in his thinking despite being in for so long. It was only when someone was banging on the bathroom door, screaming "You've been in there for almost an hour!" harshly, that he realized he had spaced out so much.

     He wasn't entirely sure when the thought of being a sort of hero clarified itself in his mind. Not for saving the woman, not for beating the grunt, but because he could _continue_ doing those things. It was such a dangerous and rebellious thought, but it was an undeniable possibility, and nothing became more clear to him as he was spreading a light blue face mask onto his skin. His reflection looked almost haunted and unfocused, until he finally settled on looking at the smear of face mask, covering one side of his face messily and spread across his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Despite being a stickler for skin-care routines, he couldn't bring his stiff fingers to continue spreading the splotch across the rest of his face. It was the mask that brought the finality he needed for his decision, and he stared at himself for what seemed like an eternity in the mirror, just keeping his eyes fixed on the blue half-disguise until someone was again insisting on him leaving the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

 

     The next day, though Lance had tried to resist, he spent almost half an hour digging through his closet before he found the air horn from Simon's antics last night. His original plan had been to return it, using it against him before letting him have it back, but as the weight settled in his palm, he found himself tucking it into his waistband and throwing his Altean Markets polo over it without a second thought. It definitely wasn't a weapon, nor did he think of it as one as he carried it with him, but something felt right about having it. Having an obnoxiously loud gag toy tucked to his side felt like a small and right defiance against the smothering Galra presence, and it gave him a small beam of confidence on his early walk to work.

      When he made it to the small family grocery store, he was immediately greeted by Shay, a quiet coworker of his from the produce department, who was stacking little containers of strawberries on a display to the right of the entrance. She looked brightened and sunny, as she always did on early morning shifts, and Lance was glad that at least someone in the store could appreciate waking up so early. Even Hunk, his best friend and ray of sunshine at all hours, could be off-put by being in such a brightly lit place so early in the morning, toiling away at work.

     Speaking of Hunk, Lance--who definitely did not work in the kitchens--was well on his way to Hunk's own work area to greet him before getting to his own job when Allura had stopped him dead in his tracks with a call of his name. He recovered quick from his mid-step, turning on a heel and swaying a bit as he cooed a "Yes, Princess~?" to his boss's oncoming presence.

     She seemed completely unfazed at his lame pet name, looking over a stack of papers in her hand critically before glancing up at him. "I checked over frozen and dairy sections, which are both clean and stocked, so I'd like you to work with the kitchen and bakery this morning. We received a large catering order, and the extra hands back there would help both of them."

     Lance smiled and nodded, though he was internally groaning at the prospect. It would be fine to help Hunk in the kitchens--Hell, he did that half the time anyway just out of boredom when the store was slow--but to help with the bakery also meant to listen to Keith barking things at him, or being too touchy about his personal space in the cramped prep area, or hear his noncommittal responses whenever Lance asked questions or engaged. It was purely infuriating, if not amusing how frustrated the baker seemed to get.

     Allura seemed completely aware of his internal distress, and didn't miss a beat from his agreement to tack on, "And no fighting today. It's too early and I won't be on the floor." She never seemed to be on the floor anymore, but Lance knew she had her reasons, as mysterious as they may be.

     It had been almost five months since her father's death, four months since she'd taken over the business officially, and two months since she'd started holing herself up in her office for sometimes entire days, only emerging for emergencies and quick sweeps of the store. When she was on the floor, she was critical and snappy, and though Lance had never particularly been close to her, he and Hunk were both friendly enough with the woman to wonder if she was okay. The store was doing well financially--It had to be, with Allura being so business savvy right off the bat and it being so bright and popular in the dim world of Arus--so that couldn't be the cause of her distress. Hunk insisted it must be her overworking herself. While Lance agreed there was definite traces of her tire in the bags under her eyes or the fraying ends of her beautiful hair, there was something specific about her tone that keyed to more than an exhausted stress. She looked at the store cameras too frequently when she was out. There was something specific on her mind.

     When Allura cleared her throat, Lance knew he'd been staring and immediately dismissed himself from the intimidating woman. She was the last person he wanted to be on the nerves of lately.

     The nerves he knew he would be on, however, stood in a crowded baking department as Lance slipped in. Keith gazed pensively down at a cake order, eyebrows furrowed in more focus than irritation. That was, until Lance greeted Hunk loudly and he visibly stiffened. The lanky boy could hear the baker's suffering sigh, and moved with glee towards his best friend to explain that he was here to help. He didn't particularly pride himself in being an irritation to Keith specifically, but he couldn't help the satisfied feeling he got when he managed to make it under the baker's skin so easily. He had zero tolerance for Lance, it seemed, in any situation. Hunk had gone as far as to tell Lance specifically that Keith only seemed to snap at him the most, and that had only fueled Lance's irritating of the baker further knowing he thought he was so much better than Lance. So high and mighty and superior for whatever reason he could possibly possess.

     Hunk seemed extremely pleased at Lance's presence in the kitchen, beaming at him his smile of sunshine, and Lance was quick to work on helping portioning food and cleaning up the bakery as Keith moved around it. They bumped into one another a lot, the baker swearing whenever he almost dropped something because Lance was suddenly behind him in the small space, but otherwise they were good at ignoring one another or keeping their snapping to a minimum. Lance was in obnoxious heaven, moving Keith's wall of cake and bread racks around while Keith hissed about liking them where they were. These were the most interesting days of his.

     He didn't tell Hunk about the altercation last night while the day dragged on, not even thinking of it for the most of his shift. He had originally intended to mention it briefly after Keith had left early when the bakery was closed, but the words never came.

     He regretted not saying something, almost, when he walked home with a shaking hand on his air horn. It was a dumb defense, but he hoped it would be at least an ounce effective on anyone in the matter of surprise. Wearing the same hoodie, he walked a different route home, itching for something he hoped wouldn't be relieved, but luck wasn't on his side.

     This time it was lighter out, but there was no hesitation even without the cloak of dim streets from the menacing guy across the street. He was pushing a swearing man up against a wall, yelling something in his face. The few others on the street all crossed the road without hesitation.

     Lance pulled his hood up, feeling sick and tense. He saw no garbage can lids, but his legs, once again, were moving before he could think about their course. He was pushing his string-bean frame into the gang member (noted by the cheesy purple 'G' marked on their cheek this time) before he decided that he needed a weapon, holding the air horn button down directly in the grunt's ear hard. He held his breath with it, watching as the guy who had been pinned to the wall absolutely rocketed away and down the street. His only exhale came when the grunt seemed to recover, and Lance too took flight, sprinting at speeds he couldn't remember reaching even in his track and field days. The grunt was close behind him for a while, but Lance's adrenaline gave him near impossible stamina as he waved through a dozen alleys and streets that were only vaguely familiar to him. He made sure he wasn't being followed for a good five minutes separate from the chase before he finally slowed, still at a hurried pace just short of killing his legs with a sprint, and made his way home.

      It was only as he was digging through his closet with vengeance, scaring his family members with it's sudden emptying due to his reputation, and pulling out every blue thing he could find in there, that he realized what he was doing with finality and certainty. He didn't even hesitate as he pulled out the taser gun. He looked to his side, thinking as he pictured the safe kept by his father's side of the bed through the walls, thinking of the handguns kept there. _No_ his mind said clearly, and he both recognized and agreed with it. That was too much. That was just like them, in a way. A taser and an air horn were fine, and Lance intended to do as much saving as he could with them.

      He picked the gaudiest combination of bright blues he could, finding hardware goggles he remembered Hunk losing among all the garbage. The face mask was on his bed next to his outfit, and he thought hard and long about what he was doing, no longer wondering if she should so much as wondering how he could do so with as little danger to the people around him as possible. The family milling about the house, his family, were the most important thing to him, without a doubt. None of this would be worth it if they were threatened in any way, so Lance had to get ugly. Unrecognizably so. Blue wasn't necessarily a bad color on him, but he couldn't help but cringe at the amount of it. His electric blue hoodie, a blue face mask splattered randomly across his eyes and the bridge of his nose, smudged down his face, blue tinted goggles, fitted jeans that he could move in and run in, a heavy white and blue cargo jacket that made the hoodie beneath look absolutely ridiculous, and the oldest pair of comfortable blue shoes he could find. He looked ridiculous, but he felt proud of himself as he stared himself down. He knew he was doing something important, even if it's alone.

      Thankfully, he wasn't alone for long.


	2. Enter the Green Paladin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance gets a friend and an ally.

     It seemed to be only days before all of Arus knew the words _Blue Paladin_ like the back of their hand. Lance heard it everywhere, from home to the streets to work, and though it was a separate part of himself, he felt self-conscious when he heard the name--like he was listening in on someone telling secrets about him specifically around the corner. He saw a woman tear up on the phone with her husband in the grocery store when she recounted to him how she'd heard about their neighbor who'd been saved by him. He heard people calling him an absolute moron. There wasn't much of an in-between.

     When he wasn't listening to tales of the Blue Paladin as an onlooker, he was living them, seeming to run into more trouble the more he stopped. Maybe he was looking too hard for fights. Maybe fights had started looking for him. Either way, Lance had gone from his wiry, relaxed self to a bit of a battered and tense scrapper in a matter of weeks. Hunk had little to say on the matter of Blue, more concerned and vocal about where Lance had received that strange bruise on his arm, or his shoulder, or the side of his head. It was sobering, to have a friend care about him. It brought him back down from the edge.

     It did mean, however, that Lance had to be better at hiding his bruises and discomfort during work. He couldn't afford to have Hunk worrying over him, just like he couldn't his family. It was too dangerous to have somebody directly involved. It was both obvious and one of the first things he learned from superhero movies. You needed to protect the ones around you with cutting them off from the information, rather than feeding them all of it. It made them too useful, too target-able.

     It was very lonely.

     Altean Markets had been short staffed ever since the death of Allura's father, the previous owner, Alfor. Many people had left the business in the assumption that it would close it's doors forever, seeing as Allura had been away studying criminal justice rather than pouring as much work as she did today into the store. The few that remained were rewarded both by a monetary incentive to remain if their struggles increased after the shift of ownership and the assurance from Allura herself that the store would always be a safe-haven to any employees, that it would get better, and she was there to help with anything they needed. She said things like that often, despite her going immediately back to snapping at someone about the condition of the grocery aisles, and everyone knew it was a genuine sentiment.

     With the short staffing, Lance had been in the kitchens much more than usual, despite it being months since the transfer of ownership. Allura was picky with who she hired, which was both a blessing to the environment and a curse to the workload, but that didn't mean she didn't try to balance things as well as she could. Unwilling to hire any ruffians into what she sometimes fondly called her "Father's Castle," she made sure everyone rotated where they could be spared and nobody left exhausted without her working right along beside them.

     Allura had basically told Lance he worked everywhere from the moment she became the owner. His job was not dispensable, she had assured him carefully, just extremely flexible, as well as he being extremely adaptable. Lance had looked too far into it at the time, blushing and preening at the most basic form of praise, and his admiration for the princess of that castle was sealed. So, whenever she approached him about a position shift for the day, he took it with a familiar grace and smile, knowing that the tired and mysteriously stressed Allura trusted him to get his job done.

     Being Blue was something he wouldn't let affect that more than it had to. When his arms were sore, he took it easy with the lifting. When bruises littered his arms and sides, he stayed away from moving around too much and letting people see. When his hands were littered with little cuts and scrapes and blotches from sloppy punches, he kept most of his work in the kitchen and produce area, knowing gloves would do wonders to cover those right up. Combinations of those issues were hard to solve, though, and Lance found himself casually laughing away welts and bruises to his coworkers worried glances, guilt riding up his spine with every affirmation that he was fine, just clumsy.

     Hunk was never convinced. With Lance puttering in the kitchen beside him, seeming to scoot out of his line of vision before it could get too close every time, there was nothing Hunk could even do but be suspicious. Being as close to Lance as he was, he'd noticed the shift in his attitude weeks ago, but watched the subject get glided around every time. Hunk knew better than anybody that Lance wasn't clumsy, but he also knew better than anybody that Lance wasn't in a situation Hunk could alleviate easily, if he was so closed up about it. The lankier of the two tended to keep his problems far to himself sometimes, sure, but they'd been close long enough that they both knew that if they needed anything the other could help with, it was done without question. It was how they were.

     Lance's prancing away from Hunk's close range vision continued on for many strange shifts. He'd taken to texting Lance after work hours were over to see if he could pry anything out of him outside of the kitchen, but Lance usually took hours to respond (when he did at all), and they were always short and vague. Desperation was coming to Hunk's mind quickly towards helping his friend as they edged three weeks of their dance.

     Finally, he had even asked Keith if he noticed anything. Head-down, sharp-eyed, Lance-loathing Keith of all coworkers. It was almost uncomfortable to speak to an otherwise fine (if not quiet) guy that hated his friend, but Keith seemed like the most rational person to ask. Outside of being best friends with Hunk, occasionally flirting with Allura and Nyma, and small conversations with Shay--"For you, my big lovely giant! Shay likes blueberries best!" He'd exclaim something similar after every conversation with her to Hunk afterwards--Keith was really the only person he engaged with often, even if it was negative. In fact, Hunk would've gone as far as to say that Keith got near the most attention outside of his best friend himself, and that really said something about his lengths of attention.

     It had to be approached lightly, though. No accusations or too serious questions to immediately set the baker off towards the end of his shift. Lance hadn't worked at all that day, and that meant Keith had spoken precisely zero times since his first small greeting to Hunk when he arrived, so Hunk was hopeful he was in a decent mood. He wasn't particularly known to be moody, but the problem was that you really couldn't tell at all what was going on with him.

     "Hey, Keith." The second Hunk had approached the edge of the small bakery area and called to him, he seemed to tense a little. It took a second before he turned at all from his meticulous piping, but when he did his expression was not entirely unkind. His usually deep furrowed brows raised a fraction, but he stayed completely silent and expecting.

     Hunk cleared his throat, almost nervously, and sighed softly to himself. "Do you think anything happened to Lance? I know you can tell he's been pretty off lately..." He knew he sounded as lost as he was, and he wasn't sure at all what answer he could be expecting from Keith, but anything to assure his own thoughts would help.

     Keith kept his gaze a long moment, brows furrowed again and looking strangely disturbed before he turned around again. "Lance? He hasn't moved any of my batter or icing buckets in the last few weeks, even though Allura brought it up last time she was alive out here." His reply was quiet and Hunk could tell he was distracted. Probably back to working on his cake. After a moment, he added, "He hasn't bitched at me about where they are in the cooler, either. I just figured you finally got him a muzzle." There it was.

     The larger man couldn't help but laugh softly at the finality of Keith's reply, nodding though he couldn't see it from his position. "Right. Thanks." He made sure to offer quietly, moving away from the area again and trying to focus on other things. When he glanced back at Keith's station through the cake racks he walled himself in with, he noticed his hands held a piping bag, and his eyes had the same focused intensity to them, but he was unmoving. So, he definitely wasn't the only one worried about Lance.

     Hours later, as he was ladling soup into pre-pack containers, he overheard a customer ask Keith to write on a cake for their son, accounting how he'd recently been scooped up and escorted home by the Blue Paladin after getting caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time. As Keith pretended to listen, nodding at what seemed like appropriate times while he wrote, Hunk was paused, making up for Keith's sub par customer service with his eavesdropping. When the father recounted how it had to take someone 'immensely brave and a little stupid' to assume an identity like that for the sake of their city, Hunk's ladle hit the floor. It was a basic thing to say about anyone, but it struck Hunk out of his groove. He didn't want to believe it, though, even if Blue's identity was a big fat mystery, so he didn't.

     The next day, when he was working with Lance, he refused to let his best friend out of his sight, no matter how hard he tried. When Lance caught him staring multiple times, he would waggle his brows, throw a grin, laugh it off with a "Can't get enough of me, buddy?" but Hunk couldn't focus on his words or antics. His eyes were drawn to the bags under Lance's. The disruption to his self-proclaimed perfect face. Bags that were so deep and brought out more when Hunk could see the traces of a blue smudge by his ears, wondering hard what would make Lance be in such a hurry that he would miss an ounce of a face mask from being washed off of his face. His eyes stuck harder on the bruises on his arms. Too harsh and brutal to be from sibling wrestles. Lance himself too casual about them for them to be something Hunk could ignore.

     Without hesitation, Hunk turned to the nearest garbage can and vomited. From the far side of the kitchen, Keith wrinkled his nose up in disgust and moved on once Hunk had stopped. Behind Hunk, Lance was there in seconds, resting his hands on his friend's back and rubbing soothingly. He was no stranger to Hunk's vomit, the latter being notorious for motion sickness and not being able to handle most intensely gory situations, but it's suddenness caused immediate worry.

     Hunk said nothing, so Lance piped up, "Your breakfast that bad, man?" No response came, and his friend stayed hunched over the large garbage can, so Lance only hummed to himself and rubbed his hands down his friend's spine. Thin, strong hands that were made to comfort siblings and hug friends and pass high-fives to coworkers. Precious hands that taught Hunk the number four trick with string and how to make friendship bracelets. Gentle hands that had _broken someone's jaw_ last week. Hands that had were immensely brave and a little stupid, to get themselves in the messes that they did.

     Hunk shuddered, then vomited again. Before he was fully recovered, and before Lance could say anything, he was wiping a hand across his mouth and taking a shaky breath to prepare himself. "You're Blue." Fluttered from his burning throat quietly.

     "Ba da bi da bi dai." Lance sang helpfully in response, still rubbing, and Hunk shook his head, turning as the hands paused and seemed to draw back quickly. Lance understood by the time his friend had met his gaze, and they stared down one another with fallen faces. When Lance broke away, glancing down at his wrist full of thread bracelets instinctively, Hunk wrapped him in a hug with a sonic speed. He only lessened his pressure on his friend when he'd heard a squeak in response, and he tried not to cry as he thought of all the bruises littering his skin. All the pain he was already in by himself.

     Even with the swarming thoughts and questions in Hunk's mind, the overriding worry and need to help his friend in whatever way he could, and the immediate mental list of everything he could remember hearing of the Blue Paladin in the last few weeks, he knew that where they were was not the best place to get into the situation. Knowing that Lance knew too, they kept their hug as long as possible and had a silent decision between them to talk about it as soon as it was a safe thing to do. Galra ears were, unfortunately, everywhere.

 

* * *

 

     One week later, as Lance was creating a pair of makeshift handcuffs out of some soda packing rings (hey, if it worked on the poor penguins, it would probably at least affect a bad guy just waking up from unconsciousness), someone called to him from across the street. They were small, he could tell, almost the size of a child, and waving almost frantically at him. Immediately on edge, he grabbed his air horn from it's spot next to his foot and rushed out of the alley, surveying the street before cautiously approaching the stranger.

     Upon closer inspection, they looked ridiculous. The first thing Lance noticed was the bright green pair of shutter shades hiding their eyes. They were obviously made to be the center of attention, but Lance also made sure to take in the gadgets strapped all across them. A radio on their hip, a giant book bag strapped to their back, a brightly glowing watch, thick headphones with a stray antenna poking off of the side from it's perch on their shoulders, and the cell phone in their hand they were using to illuminate the area around them on the dark street. They wore a mixture of greens, an almost reflection of the Blue Paladin's attire misery in a different hue. Baggy layers covered their torso, too-long cargo shorts flared down their legs, and what looked like the makings of messy brown hair poked out from beneath a green plaid golf hat. It was almost hard to look at, but Lance knew he didn't look much better.

     "Here." And a radio was in Lance's hand from the smaller one, who nodded at his confused look. "Call me when you need help. I'll be around." The Blue Paladin watched as they were immediately jogging away, waving a hand and offering no other dismissal. His eye was drawn to their bright orange sneakers, and he only squinted after them.

     True to their word, the newspaper dubbed Green Paladin was around. Lance kept them updated whenever he was in a tricky situation, and they followed through at all times, showing up so fast he'd have thought they were already there sometimes. As fast as they appeared, they were gone, only coming to help Lance end things if he needed and root through any unconscious members pockets. Eventually, Lance has the sense to start being more suspicious of their actions, even going as far as to take apart the radio they had given him to check for anything out of the ordinary--it was all foreign technology to him, basically, but it was worth a shot.

     When Green was standing opposite of him in another dark and damp alley, a kubotan in their still-raised hand from having delivered a final blow, Lance knew his worry, while well-placed, was unnecessary. He handed them the parts of the radio he couldn't figure out how to repair, wondering if they had been patrolling on their own because of his radio silence or if they usually did so anyway, and visibly winced when they went on to berate him about taking care of the things they made.

     Lance kept in touch with them much, _much_ more after that. He paged her for everything, then, whether it be a small fist fight in the street or suspicious loading down at the shipping end of town. They thrived on the information, and Lance was happy to supply it in return for any aid he received. Each time, Green was in and out as fast as they could be. The only exceptions came on nights they were both looking for something. While they both agreed they never avidly looked for crime, as less was better in any situation, something had to be happening if there was quiet in the streets. They were a little investigative, in that sense, but it seemed to be the Green Paladin's forte.

     When Lance could spare the time, he was with Hunk, who was a worried mess but listening to everything Lance could tell him with no demands. It was only when Hunk asked about Green that Lance realized he didn't have much to say at all. They flew in and flew out, and that's the most basic of what he knew. They hadn't exchanged names, handshakes, or anything past the standard location and banter over the radio.

     He wasn't particularly determined to make friends with the Green Paladin, but it was too out of Lance's own nature to ignore someone he worked with and was friendly with almost nightly, so he tried to make progress wherever he could budge. As they walked together down a dark street one night, Lance tried to guess how old they are, and finds himself scared at the answer. They're obviously young, but not enough to be misunderstanding of the surroundings in the city. The idea that they could have been the age of some of his siblings hits him, and his throat seems to tighten the same way it does when someone he recognizes is a victim to the streets.

     "Hey, Pigeon, let's head down here." With a nod down an alley, he waited for the smaller paladin to shuffle past him, but they paused and moved to glare up at him (or, what he could assume was a glare through her ridiculous sunglasses).

     "What did you call me?" They demanded, and their voice had a ferocity that immediately had Lance's amused attention.

     His reply was without hesitance, spreading his hands for emphasis. "You know, Pigeon!" He cried like it was obvious, and to him it was. "Because you're always swooping in, looting around the grime, and flying away!" With a pose, he continued. "And I'm Eagle, because I'm always out on the prowl, predator style-"

     "No." They cut him off, pushing past him with a frown.

     "We need radio names for the image! Come on, Pidge." Lance cried after her, almost with the nerve to sound exasperated.

     The name stuck, but not easily. The frequency of the Green Paladin's appearances increased dramatically as the weeks went by, to the point where they were together almost every night. Lance wondered more about them than ever, but knew not to push any boundaries on their already strange and professional relationship.

     He couldn't help it, however, as he watched someone almost cut a little too close, knife swiping through the air and catching the end of their shades as they back their head away. It was too close, too threatening of someone Blue had decided to protect, and he lunged forward and fought with more ferocity than before. He wasn't sure where it came from, nor did it seem did Green, but when the enemy was downed and they were both left in a panting recovery from the fight, it wasn't questioned.

     Lance stared at Green's eyes while he could, watching them shine with restrained emotion. It was an young but wise and intense gaze. It made him sad and protective while simultaneously making him feel inadequate. Their gaze was strong and unwavering in determination, and Lance found himself understanding the way they searched, despite still not knowing the object of their eyes.

     "You okay, Pidge?" He asked softly across the alley to them, and the intense gaze was immediately on him, softening only a fraction. He swallowed.

     When they nodded, leaning down to pick up their shades and replace them, Lance decided that--with just that fractional softening alone--he would trust Pidge and whoever they were in the light no matter what, and he would do anything he could to help them find what they were looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going a little slow, I know guys, but I like to take a bit of time with their introductions so their relationships aren't rushed. Also, I make a lot of typos whenever I'm still writing at 4:30 in the morning, so I'll edit this so it's nice and clean as much as I can, and then recheck when I'm more awake just in case. 
> 
> Anyway, stay tuned!


	3. Enter the Yellow Paladin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of a team: Hunk breathes life and fear into everything, Keith lies, Pidge Confronts, Allura is Confronted, Coran is proud of his Space Nephew, and Lance puts his best leg forward while Shay cleans up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is extra deathly long to make up for how short the last one was. My full plan is to make sure each chapter is arooound 5000+ words, but the way I plan out my chapters is basically just making a bulletpoint list of everything I want to get done to each chapter so it's evenly balanced in action and stuff, then writing it all no matter how long each scene gets. I do actually have the next couple of chapters fully planned, because the beginning of this AU is pretty straightforward. If you can't tell from the chapter titles already, they're sequenced by who got their lions in what order in the series, which means that next time we meet it'll be dragging the Red Paladin into the light. But! Don't worry, lots of stuff is happening to appropriately bring about that change. Anyway, enjoy guys!

     Altean Markets was a pure source of mystery for everyone who worked there--even their most trusted employees, it seemed, were always surprised at new quirks in the old 'castle'. Allura took good care of the store her father had built, with the support of her closest family, Coran, and the both of them took even greater care to protect its secrets.

     Allura never minded divulging the story to those who asked. However, she was careful to make sure it was all they were getting out of her. Everyone could know Alfor Altea had left his spot as the Chief of Arus Police suddenly to pursue his homely dream. Everyone could know he used to have a business partner, and they could pull little else out of Allura. The rest, she knew, was a sacred and dangerous secret.

     Coran had approached her the second the newspaper had arrived in the morning, weeks ago. It announced a Blue Paladin, a masked hero of sorts, engaging in resistance against the Galra. Coran seemed proud, as if he knew something she didn't (a notion that was always uncomfortable), but Allura could only find herself to be irritated, at first.

     The effort was noble and foolish, especially alone, and Allura almost had the thought of him being a good distraction, but there was no way he could know what he was getting into (he? he looked like a he, but sometimes Allura remembered better than to assume). If he uncovered anything or made any grounds, it would be useful to immediately have his assistance. If anything, she could scare him into giving up and going back to safety while he still could.

     That was a few weeks ago, now, and Allura hadn't taken very long narrowing down the population of Arus to suspected Paladins. She had been the top of her class, studying Law Enforcement and Private Investigation--and not for nothing--and Coran interjected new thoughts and angles when her tired eyes swam too much with all the information she had to sort through.

     The hospital had reported nothing to the inquiring newspaper, thought Allura had safely decided that it was for lack of information rather than concealing his identity. That alone left the question of whether the Blue Paladin was crafty enough to keep himself unharmed or if he was knowledgeable enough to care for his own wounds. There was a lingering hope of the former, not wanting him to be too battered by the time she'd found him and offered her alliance, but she could not be so naive as to think he could keep himself safe for long on his own. By the blurry photos some had managed, she could also safely assume his masquerade was not a very good one. Eye witnesses described him as wearing face paint and safety goggles, and those alone on his head.

     Coran and her both decided it was fair to say they were close to _something_ around the same time Katie Holt barged into her office. She was a small, thin girl, and Coran seemed nothing but mutely surprised, but Allura knew immediately to be suspicious.

     "I know you're looking for the Blue Paladin." Was the first thing she said, no introduction necessary to get to her point. "I also know you have information on Kerberos and the disappearances."

     They all tensed, then. From Allura's position at her office desk, she could see Coran's hands flex behind his back.

     The small girl's stare was just as hard as Allura's own, and she felt something akin to familiarity at the fierceness of it. There were bags under her eyes and her frown was steady, no sense of tearing up or crying in her features. Allura recognized her so well, despite not knowing her quite yet, and she couldn't even begin to deny that determination that mirrored her own so well.

     "Yes." Allura spoke carefully, not offering much quite else so fast, "What can we do for you?"

     The girl took a half step towards the desk, Coran's eyes narrowed.

     "My name is Katie Holt." The words were like a breath of relief and surprise to both adults. "I'm going out into the field." And there the breath was gone.

     Allura found herself twitching. "Excuse me?" Was all she asked.

     "My family, Takashi Shirogane included, is still alive. The police closed the case before it even began. I _know_ you have information and I _know_ you're the holder of the LIONs-"

     Coran stepped in front of the desk as Allura stood, "You are not to be pursuing the LIONs, nor are they of any concern to you."

     Katie looked affronted, bristling and clenching her fists. "I don't want them!" She replied hotly, "I want my _father_! And they were his invention, too!"

     Hard stares turned into glares. "You will not be receiving them, no matter your father's contribution."

     "I don't _want_ them. I want the information." For such a small girl, her words were all venom. "I have my father's notes, and what I've hacked in the police database, but I need to know what you can tell me before I go out into the field."

     Coran glanced over his shoulder at Allura a moment before speaking. "Now what training do you have to be setting off at night?" His voice was careful, a little softer and calming to the other two.

     "I took self defense and beginning firearms training," Noting Coran's lack of impress, she continued, "I'm going to aid the Blue Paladin, not go out alone."

     "Has the Blue Paladin asked this of you? What makes you sure you'll be of any use to him?" Allura interjected.

     A snort came from Pidge. "He won't refuse help. Right now, he's just doing street control, but if I'm there we can have an objective. Actually do some damage. With a _plan_."

     "How do you know he's not already doing internal attacks beyond his street endeavors?" Coran asked carefully, sharing another look with Allura.

     Katie was silent, staring at them both for a hard minute or so. "Lance McClain is the Blue Paladin. He doesn't know I know, or that I know him, but we used to scrimmage on the same squadron in Garrison training."

     That was a lot of information at once. "Lance?" Allura nearly cried out, though not of disbelief, before continuing, "Garrison training? How _old_ are you?" This small girl didn't look anywhere near old enough to be in the police training the Garrison put up.

     Her defenses were back up immediately, and Coran had left the room abruptly, his footsteps being heard down the long hallway that led into the grocery store from her office. "I attended as a cadet for two months after they went missing." Her reply was hot, and it was obvious she was trying to keep her calm. "He was our assistant trainer before he left before graduation. I'm seventeen." Something irked Katie deeply about being the one dishing all the information, but she knew she had to give to be offered anything.

     The silence as Allura walked around her desk was near deafening. While Katie's defenses were all raised, there was the softest smidge of nerves in her stiff shoulders.

     "Lance probably wouldn't like that you've given his identity." Allura said delicately.

     "Fair point." The small shoulders loosened a fraction, "But he won't know we know, because nobody's going to tell him." Instead of objectivity, Katie seemed to be challenging Allura to protest.

     The older woman had no such response, however. She knew personally what Lance's life was filled with from a friendship of sorts that lasted so long and stories to top it off. He had so much family he loved, and so many people he was close to. Both Katie and Allura could deeply understand the want to protect that.

     "Of course." Allura finally replied, turning to a busy looking wall and fishing her fingers into a hidden slit of a door handle. "This way, then."

     The next day, Lance asked Allura if she'd heard anything of the 'dashing rogue' of the Blue Paladin, and she almost couldn't keep herself from giggling at his crestfallen look when she replied, "Bit of a fool, if you ask me."

     Two days later, the newspaper posted a grainy image and evidenceless article of the new "Green Paladin." Allura could make out the gadgets on the waist of the baggy clothes, along with the hard-to-discern tuft of hair poking from the edges of the cap she was wearing. The newspaper said 'he'. Katie knew what they were doing.

 

* * *

 

     "Keith." Lance seethed, making a sharp gesture towards the floor of the giant freezer, "What. Is this."

     The young man being questioned let out a suffering breath and checked his phone. His shift ended over five minutes ago, but the lanky freezer boy often insisted on this interrogation. "It's a bucket of lemon filling." When the sharp gesturing hands changed directions, he adjusted his statement, "That's a bucket of cherry filling."

     A muffled groan met his ears, and Lance gestured to a sign on the wall, one that Keith pointedly ignored very often. In all honesty, with Lance picking this fight for the first time in a few weeks, Keith was surprised. He signed, his breath coming out in puffs, and asked, "What does that sign say, Keith?"

     "Dairy." He replied coolly, glancing to the designated area for bakery items, next to the seafood. It was full, and Keith had silently wondered for weeks now if Coran was overstocking or if their bakery sales were drastically changed. Then again, Keith was busier than ever with orders and product quantity adjustments, so it couldn't be _so_ bad.

     "Are _lemon_ and _cherry_ filling _dairy_ products?" Really, Lance didn't quite have the authority to reprimand Keith like he seemed to be edging, but he did fully have the right to be irritated at the disorganization in his own department.

     "Not really." Ten minutes since his shift ended. "Dairy has the most room. It's nearly empty."

     If Lance's eyes were going to pop out of his skull, Keith was sure they was close. "That's because we get our _shipment_ tonight."

     A beat of silence passed, and Keith watched with furrowed brows as Lance signed, more tired than irritated this time. "So move them." Keith grunted, shoving his hands in his pockets. The freezer was not a place for extended exposure, and Keith secretly wondered how Lance could spend every day in here for hours at a time. He could barely stand ten minutes. "Just put them where there's room and no shipments for the next few days."

     "Few _days_?" Lance finally sputtered, glancing around the giant frozen room.

     "Pies aren't on sale until next week. I have no idea why Coran bought them early." A small shiver ran as his skin pricked in goosebumps. Fuck, it was too cold for this.

     He was surprised when Lance gave no further objections, just turning with a frown to lift the five gallon buckets. Keith watched carefully as his shoulder seemed to jerk slightly as he lifted (correctly, at least), and his face rolled over his shoulder to hide his grimace until he calmed again.

     The buckets ended up next to boxes of frozen fruit. Lance seemed surprised himself when Keith was still there when he turned to return to organizing. Keith, even, was a little surprised at himself, and pursed his lips into a scowl. "RICE your shoulder or something. You can't work and lift back here injured." Before Lance could reply with something that would definitely be an objection or jab, Keith turned and left.

     Twenty minutes after he was supposed to have left from his shift, he was halfway to the exit when Katie stopped him.

     She had been grating on Keith's nerves for a week or two now, having just started working at Altea as a cashier, and Keith knew she was being investigative, but couldn't figure out precisely what she was up to. Part of him thought she knew about his casual Galra raids, or the warehouse he'd set on fire last week, or anything involving his own careful investigation, but, knowing Katie, she would've said something to him the second she'd confirmed it.

     In all honesty, he would have loved to have Katie at his side for the electronics and information he'd been collecting lately--he didn't understand much of it himself, but he'd have to be stupid to not think there was use for the stuff, so it was slowly being collected and left in boxes around his place--but what he was doing was blatantly reckless, even to himself. He knew that if he did find Shiro, the man would be disappointed, grateful, and proud of him all at the same time. To face the Galra alone was just dumb and dangerous. Knowing that, and knowing the fire that coursed through Katie at the mere mention of the Kerberos Disappearances, Keith refused to recruit her for the sake of her safety and avoiding blatant reprimanding from Shiro when he was found.

     But it was obvious, at least to Keith, that Katie was up to something of her own, and that had him constantly wary.

     "Mom wants to know if you wanna come around for dinner tonight." Was all Katie said, however.

     Since Kerberos, Colleen Holt had invited Keith over for dinner every week without fail. Keith had only accepted three times, but the Holts were not phased. Colleen, through her son's being best friends with Shiro, knew Keith far too well for his liking, and though she never said anything specifically, she knew Keith was not the best at caring for himself since Shiro's disappearance had consumed him.

     "What time?" Keith said, exasperation tinging his words as he brushed flour off of his pants.

     "Seven, after I get off work. Don't fall asleep."

     It was a toss up for how likely it was for Keith to sleep. He worked early and worked harder late. Ignoring the comment, he asked, "Do you want me to take you home? Who's picking you up?"

     "I'm walking." When Keith said he'd be there to pick her up, she seemed completely unsurprised, but stopped him one more time before he left. "Did you hear about that giant warehouse fire a few nights ago?" God damn it.

     "I don't watch the news, Katie."

     "It was in the newspaper." Keith shrugged as she continued, "Seems dumb to me to just burn the whole place down, Galra or not."

     Before Keith could pretend he wasn't getting defensive, she was gone. Much more irritated than before, he started towards the exit again, and huffed aloud when Hunk backed into his way.

     "Dude."

     "Oh. Sorry, Keith." He was pulling a cart of noodles in different sizes and types. There were a lot of bow ties. When Hunk saw his gaze, he shrugged. "Soup kitchen night, gotta get this stuff together so it's ready for Allura to take over before the crowd."

     Keith watched with a small fascination as, from across the racks of produce, Shay (Shy? Sharon? Keith didn't really remember her name) called to Hunk, holding up two bags of potatoes, and Hunk seemed to completely lose all calmness. His dark skin turned a furious red as she beamed at him, and he swallowed before calling "Brown!" back.

     ShayShySharon nodded, put the potatoes in her left hand into her cart, and grabbed two more bags to join it.

     "Dude." Keith said again when he seemed lost a second.

     "Right! See ya, Keith!" Hunk hurried aside and finally let the baker free.

     With a wave as he exited the aisle and consecutively the store, Keith called, "Later, big guy," and finally made it to the parking lot. Hoping the night would continue without incident, Keith got onto his motorcycle and left Altean Markets in a blur.

     That night, after not falling asleep and having a Holt sponsored dinner of pork chops and steamed vegetables, Keith rode the streets in pursuit of a grunt who had tried to tag his bike. it was petty revenge against a petty crime attempt, but he was particularly riled up at his lack of answers, and would take any sort of action in the Galra he could.

     His U-turn sent him almost parallel to the ground when he heard an airhorn sound a block and half behind him. Obnoxious, if not suspicious, and probably used as a squad signal, it he didn't think it was so dumb and indiscreet.

     When he came to the scene of a lanky boy clad in all blue in the middle of a street brawl, he wasn't sure what else he was wondering for. There were three Galra 'soldiers' around him like sharks, but he seemed capable, if nothing else, under that pressure.

     "Pidge, don't follow, they're big." He said into the receiver of the walkie talkie in his hand.

     "How many?" A staticy reply came, and the blue boy jumped over one of the grunts as the sequence of brawling broke out again from it's momentary pause.

     The boy's eyes met Keith's through both his obnoxious hardware glasses and Keith's own motorcycle helmet visor, but he was distracted again immediately as someone flicked out a knife.

     "I'd get out of here, buddy!" He called over his shoulder as he shot his stun gun towards the smallest of the three.

     The notion that this thin boy was going to independently take the three of them down almost made Keith laugh, but he prioritized and joined the fray once he'd hopped off of his bike.

     Despite having the peaceful life of a grocery store baker, Keith was no stranger to fights. When he flicked out his own pocket knife, the blue boy's frantic, "Friend or foe, just give me a heads up!" surprised him, not just for it's attentive suddenness, but because it was such a stupid thing to ask. Fights were all about instinct.

     Keith combated the biggest grunt without giving a proper answer, deciding instead to leave some sort of ambiguity to what exactly was going on before he knew too much about the other. When he slapped the knife from a grunt's hand, he noted how the blue boy had lunged forward to grab it and tuck it away in a scramble.

     "Do _not_ kill him!" he ordered when Keith's own blade sliced over someone's forearm. Exasperated, yet strangely compelled to follow along, Keith threw a hard and well aimed punch to the grunt at his side and pocketed his own knife again.

     The fight, overall, barely lasted more than ten minutes, but there was no hesitation in either boys to speed to Keith's motorcycle when they were finished.

     Keith felt the other boy hop on behind him and barely gave him a moment before tearing down the street.

     Lance, unbeknownst to him, wrapped his slim arms in a vice grip around Keith, of all people, while letting out a started screech at the suddenness of their speed.

     "There was three. I'm good, don't go near that street tonight, Pidge." he said into the speaker as the crazy motorcycle boy in front of him ran a very red light and the following stop sign a block later.

     "Blue, are you okay? I can barely hear you. What's going on?" The Green Paladin crackled through the speakers.

     A startled laugh left him as they took a sharp turn and he held on tighter again. Keith could feel, over the collar of his jacket, the boy's warm breath fanning across his neck and sweeping towards his shoulder. His body, a hard line against Keith's own behind him, jumped every time his motorcycle gave a kick.

     After fifteen minutes of continuous riding, almost to Balmera, the next city over, Keith slowed and came to a stop on the side of the road.

     Lance seemed purely out of breath, whooping a few times between deep inhales and shaking a little as he got up. It was a new, safer kind of adrenaline to him, and his heart was hammering. When he saw the smirk the motorcycle man was giving him, his heart hammered faster.

     "H-hey. Thanks, man." He managed, his eyes blown clearly wide past his safety glasses.

     The helmet nodded. "Where am I taking you? You have a partner?"

     Lance blinked and pulled out his walkie talkie again. "Pidge. That's what I call the Green Paladin, sorry. They're probably rooftopping. Can you get me to the square?"

     "Sure. Green Paladin?" Keith leaned back into his bike handles.

     "You know, the other one that helps the Blue Paladin?" Lance, much slower, joined him again.

     "Blue Paladin?" Keith followed up absentmindedly, wondering if they based themselves somewhere near the square or if the blue boy was just taking a precautionary measure.

     "The-Me? You know, the _Blue Paladin_?" He emphasized, "Enemy to the Galra? Dashing rogue of the night? I'm in the newspaper, like, every other morning!" Lance, though much more hesitant and wary of the motorcycle man now that he seemed to not know him, put his arms to the other's waist and huffed.

     "Well, congratulations." Was all he said as they zoomed off.

 

* * *

 

     Lance wasn’t surprised at all when Hunk joined them for patrolling one night. It's more how and when that got him hung up. He always figured his friend would join, despite his fears, sooner rather than later, but with the strange and fleeting presence of the "Red Paladin" in the newspaper (they have no images and only seem to be speculating off of witness testaments as to his deeds--Lance isn't even sure it's the same guy as motorcycle man, or if he would know he was Red if it was), Lance had assumed they'd see him more than the chances of catching Hunk out with them.

     Like most of the best entrances to the Blue and Green Paladin's lives, he appears in the midst of a fight, slamming someone into a wall without any of the gentility he was known to specialize in. It was so surprising and unexpected, to see a looming and violent presence like the one Hunk was giving off then, that Lance nearly stunned him on pure reflex. He was clad in all yellows (hideous, surprising shades of yellow), wearing a shirt too tight and face paint in smudged, random patterns. His own pair of safety goggles encased his eyes, a bright orange headband kept his bangs from his face, and work gloves without fingers and thick cuffs encased his hands (to cover friendship bracelets, Lance sympathized fondly). Lance's personal favorite part of the ensemble (besides the work boots made so well for stomping and hulking) had to be the disgusting, mustard yellow coat he wore over himself. Not only was the shade atrocious, but the sleeves were too short, while the rest of it was too big. It was as good of a disguise as any, and Lance recognized his _very_ successful attempt at making himself look _huge_.

     This Hunk wasn't the same Hunk who made cranberry oatmeal cookies for movie night. No, this one was angry Hunk. Shove your face into the ground Hunk. A dangerous kind of Hunk.

     Another slam to the wall broke Lance out of his proud thoughts, and they worked with a fluid grace and trust in one another that any galra grunt could only dream of replicating.

     When Pidge came to the alley sensing the end of the fight, their Kubotan was raised warily. Lance figured, even with the shutter shades masking their gaze, it was safe to guess who they were staring at.

     "This is my friend." And that's all it took to ease the teenager, their shoulders loosening immediately as they went straight to digging through pockets. The Blue Paladin couldn't help the roll of pride that traveled through him knowing he was so trusted by his teammate.

     "Are we doing that now? Bringing friends?" Pidge's tone was a little sarcastic, but harbored no more suspicion towards the two nor any unkindness particularly.

     Hunk snorted. "I came here on my own, thank you. What are we looking for?" he went to his knees to the grunt Pidge hadn't checked yet.

     With a glance over their shoulder for good measure, they listed, "Cell phones, keys, electronics of any kind, really, _flash drives_ , wallets."

     "I try to get their guns and any weapons if I can." The Blue Paladin interjected.

     "They'll just get more, Blue." The younger sighed. To Hunk, it seemed like a tired conversation.

     "Not the point, Pidgeon."

     The very next day, everyone knew about the hulking and vicious Yellow Paladin through the _Arusian Times_.

 

* * *

 

     The three Paladins fell into a comfortable routine. Nightly, Hunk and Lance would patrol, dividing streets evenly when they weren’t next to one another. Pidge joined them at least once every few nights (more often on weekends, Lance found himself noting with amusement), and always showed up after a rough fight, but they either had their own investigative agenda, which was likely, or they were generally prone to avoiding the team when it wasn’t necessary to be around one another.

     Despite this, Hunk and Pidge got along even better than Lance did with them. They found out extremely early on that they’re both massive nerds, sparked by Hunk’s initial adjustment suggestions to the security of their private radio frequency. Pidge’s lips had a small curve whenever they talked tech, and Hunk lost all Yellow-esque intimidation tactics in favor of looking like an absolute teddy bear while they talked about projects. He had two more years of school for his engineering courses, and while they’re wary of him divulging certain information about their personal lives, it was refreshing and happy to hear the young man gush.

     Pidge was, past being a massive nerd, actually an absolute genius. They were also super humble about that fact, as well, offering only an “I know” a little blandly while their furious fingers clacked away at their laptop through the praise. They’ve taken to hacking into video feeds of local security cameras (Hunk built the scanner, Pidge did the hacking) lately, whenever their nights allowed it. When their nights didn’t, Hunk and Lance had no objections leaving Pidge to hack by themselves, so long as they promised to use the security alarm adjusted onto each of their radios. Lance had initially protested the notion, glaring at the pink ‘Find Me Mommy!’ alarm like he had history with it, but couldn’t refuse the logic and _both_ of his teammates berating his reluctance. He was the leader, after all, and a good leader listened to the insults his teammates hurled at him when he made dumb decisions.

     To be fair, however, it was more like dumb decisions always found _him_. Not the other way around. Times like those made him wish for…something. A specific goal, or for him to listen to any of Pidge’s critical snorts when he claimed his leadership skills were without match, or for Hunk or even the Motorcycle Man/Maybe Red Paladin to appear.

     He was good at recognizing time crunches and had plenty of situational awareness to know his environment and things that were going on almost instantly, so it’s not like he didn’t know things were stupid things to do before he even did. It was his natural need to solve problems as quickly as possible and help people the second they needed it that brought out the dumbest plans.

     People who weren’t already inside of their houses after dark were either already inevitably going to be in a situation or were gang members. Lance had, honestly, no idea why they even bothered with the subtlety of night anymore. Their numbers in the daytime were less obvious, but everyone knew they were there. Still, they prowled at night time, picking off wanderers and innocents, and the Blue Paladin wouldn’t stand for it.

     He’d been getting better at remembering Hunk was around, and reveled in the fact that he could page his teammate reliably and get an immediate ETA from his best friend, but some things couldn’t wait.

     The man screaming Lance had been frantically following the sound of was silenced as soon as he’d rounded the corner and caught the glint of silver under the flickering street light. He sounded off his air horn reflexively, both to signal Hunk and to draw attention, and immediately shot to the side as the gang member threw the now bloody knife towards him in an instant.

     It skid down the street behind Lance, well aimed if he hadn’t had good reflexes, and the previously screaming young man fell to the ground in a heap as the grunt turned to Lance fully, reaching into his pockets. The man was the first priority, bloody and needing assistance, so he didn’t hesitate despite the brandished gun to send two consecutive jolts of his stun gun into the grunt.

     He charged, halting sporadically at the voltage and obviously trembling, but the gun was still aimed at Lance when the second wave ended and the grunt was on his knees.

     Lance was not particularly interested in staring death in the face or questioning his own mortality. He used noise and electricity instead of bullets, he stole knives and guns to throw away or drop off at the station whenever he could, and he implored Pidge and Hunk to do the same. A life was a heavy thing to be responsible for, and none of them could probably bear the burden.

     Staring down the eye of a gun, Lance remembered the weight and feel of it in his own hand. His days at the Garrison left him trained as a legendary marksman—something he’d been proud of until the targets became people and dread had changed Lance’s perspective of being a police officer one-hundred-eighty degrees from an honorable responsibility to a corrupted and unforgivable weight—but, even knowing his skill, he still hadn’t picked up a gun since he’d dropped out.

     The Galra in front of him didn’t seem to have any dread to keep his actions at bay, however, and through gritted teeth he told Lance to fuck off as a shot rang through their ears.

     It was…sloppy, actually. It tore across the side of Lance’s thigh, cutting through jeans and some skin, but had done so little damage in comparison to what he’d been expecting that he’d almost laughed. The grunt fell in his own heap, fist still clenched tightly around his gun, and Hunk was at Lance’s side before he realized he was frozen.

      “Lance-Oh-.” He didn’t even try for pseudonyms at as his gaze was frantic, strong hands grasping at the thinner boy’s shoulders. “He _shot_ you, dude! You just got shot!” He looked sick, “Pidge I need you here _now_ ! North main! Do we have first aid kids? Why don’t we-Oh god it’s bleeding-You were _shot_!”

     “Yellow.” Lance coughed and cleared his throat, shaking out of his daze finally and pushing to step a few paces towards the man. “I’ll be fine, that guy needs to get to a hospital, though.” He ordered, stumbling with Hunk at his side to the side of the road.

     Not long after, Pidge was jogging towards them, and Lance noted the motion specifically because, even in the face of danger, they never seemed particularly rushed at Lance’s orders or instructions. That was, of course, unless it involved unconscious Galra ‘soldiers’.

     When they took Hunk’s place next to Lance and the victim, Hunk sprinted to a nearby trashcan and promptly threw up.

     “We need an ambulance—why don’t we have a car already?” Lance groaned, fishing through one of his canvas pockets for his phone while Pidge checked vitals and pressed the man’s shirt (now removed gently and balled up) to the gash on the side of his neck. He was alive, but losing a lot of blood.

     “You need an ambulance, too, dude.” Hunk said shakily, trying to get Lance to keep his leg still.

     As he punched in the emergency number, Lance sighed through his nose, it dissolving into a hiss as Hunk tied his long bandanna around the bloody gash. “Fu-I can’t go to a _hospital_ , Yellow! Hello? I’m at North Main across from Ryder’s weaponry. This is the Blue Paladin.”

     “Fuck.” Pidge breathed towards Hunk at the realization, rubbing her wrist against her nose as she glanced towards Lance’s wound and kept her other hand steady on the victim’s own gash. Their limited first aid knowledge couldn’t stitch him, nor any other wounds they would inevitably sustain at this point, and their Blue Paladin wasn’t walking that off exactly, despite looking like he wanted to.

     Hunk’s eyes were wide, staring at Lance’s leg wound for a long moment while he chatted on the phone with the operator. After a moment, he flicked his gaze up to meet his best friend’s own. “I-Shay?” he asked, uncertain.

     Lance, mid-sentence with the operator on the phone, cut himself off to screech a happy “Yes!” towards Hunk, which Pidge had to catch themselves to keep from mirroring with their own enthusiasm. “Sorry, no, everything’s okay. I’ve taken a minor injury, so I won’t be here when the ambulance arrives, but P-The Green Paladin will be here until then. No questions. Yes, there’s a Galra ‘soldier’, unconscious but still armed.”

     They didn’t like to be around when the police or any officials arrived—they’d been getting good at dropping gang members off at the police station or hacking the scanner frequency to drop off locations through the line, but being in direct association with the police was generally asking to be arrested. They had no choice, now, though. They would never blatantly leave a victim in need, and they had no way of taking him to a hospital themselves.

     Hunk’s shaky fingers worked at his small phone, grimacing at the tired voice that answered the line on the second ring. “Hello?”

     “S-Shay. Hey. I-We need a favor.” It was two-thirty in the morning, and Hunk was stammering in her presence for a completely different reason than their norm. She had work, as did Hunk himself, in less than five hours.

     Shay was a good person, though, and a very kind friend of both Hunk’s and Lance’s. Her sleepy voice was immediately laced with concern at Hunk’s tone. “How can I assist you? Is everything alright?”

     An hour later, Lance was being stitched up by Shay in a back room of Altea Markets they hadn’t even known existed. Pidge had insisted they meet there and, to everyone’s surprise, Allura was there with the doors open to receive them. As soon as they were inside, Coran greeted them and led the way, and Allura disappeared into her office.

     Shay, unpredictably, was very calm at the whole of the situation. The young woman was almost through going to medical school (it was a slow process to attend while living in Balmera and working full time in Arus), so they knew she would be fine handling the actual wound, but her being so understanding and not questioning anything had caught both Paladins present off guard. Save for the already awkward fact that Lance was laying on an old meat packaging table (they’d sanitized it and laid down wax paper for extra measures at Shay’s insistence) pants-less with a bullet gash on his left thigh, both him and Hunk (who was methodically busying himself with handing Shay anything she asked for immediately and leaving the room and gag and wash his hands every ten minutes) were in their paladin ‘uniforms’, but Shay, besides the initial gaze over them, wasn’t fazed.

     She was stitching the first few beginning knots into his skin when Hunk broke the thought on both of their minds. “We’re—The Paladins.” He explained haltingly to the lack of question.

     Shay hummed and nodded, her lips turning into a kind smile while Hunk fidgeted. “I believed it was safe to assume. Is this the first time you’ve gotten hurt?”

     “You bet it is! Woo! I’m, like, two months into this already! And only one bullet!” Lance perked up with an open laugh, obviously proud of himself. Hunk had to lay his hand on the smaller boy’s waist as a reminder to keep still.

     While Lance’s enthusiasm was amusing, their doctor was not so impressed. “How did you plan on taking care of this if Hunk hadn’t called me? Surely you weren’t going to the hospital?” She was halfway through the wound now, working with careful and strong hands, and the only real sign of her fear for them was in her pensive frown.

     “I…didn’t really have that one figured out.” He admitted, a little less enthused.

     “It’s a good thing Hunk thought quickly, then.” All three of them turned to Coran as he spoke from the doorway, and Lance flinched as he began spinning his moustache thoughtfully.

     It was no secret that Coran was close to Lance and Hunk (though the latter of which he couldn’t help but harbor a small grudge towards due to his usurped kitchen position). Coran was known throughout the close-knit store as the one they could trust the most with long talks and hard questions, and could reliably receive long-winded, musing answers from in return.

     “Coran-“ Lance started, groaning a little as he couldn’t move much but his head and shoulders without the risk of interrupting Shay’s work.

     “No need to say anything, my boy. I had you figured out weeks ago! I’m glad you’ve made it so far.” The old man’s eyes were sparkling with so much pride Lance couldn’t help but reflect it.

     Hunk smiled warmly at their dramatic wet eyes, knowing all was well between them.

     “Do not praise him for endangering himself blindly and getting himself into this mess.” And then it was not well. Allura wandered into the room with her arms crossed firmly over her chest. A few steps behind her was Pidge, tapping hurriedly at their phone.

     “Ew. Blue, put pants on.” Was all they said as they glanced up, grimacing a little.

     “I-Can we all not be in here? This is unsanitary. Right, Shay?” Lance whined, feeling decent enough for Pidge’s eyes alone to throw a hand over his crotch in his briefs. “Everyone but Allura and the doctor should leave.” There was a moment where he wiggled his eyebrows and allowed his eyes to meet his boss’s, but it was ceased immediately at her unwavering disapproval.

     “They are fine at their distance.” Shay gave no aid or acknowledgement to his flirtatious attempts. Lance groaned, but Allura continued.

     “This is an event that should not repeat itself. You all need more training, and you need to work _together_ as a _team_.”

     “We are a team!” Hunk hurried to say, though he didn’t deny their training. Pidge was…Pidge, and he was an engineering student. Lance, it seemed, was the only one with actual training to be doing what they were up to.

     “Then you should certainly start acting like one, shouldn’t you?” The room went quiet, and Lance could feel Shay on her last few stitches. “You’re not doing bad work, but until you have better combative skills, you should stay with investigating, like the Green Paladin has been.”

     The remaining paladins eyes met, and a silent conversation happened through eyebrow raises alone.

     “What are you looking for, Pidge?” Hunk was the one who finally voiced it.

     They didn’t hesitate before pocketing their phone and pulling a notebook from their giant backpack. “Well, I’m glad you’ve asked, Yellow.” It took them a few blind page flips to find the right page, but they eventually flipped the book around to show an intricately detailed diagram of scribbles. It was color coded, but confusing and hard to read. “This is a mixture of all the radio chatter I’ve picked up, all referring to a thing called ‘Voltron’, which has to do with research I inherited.”

     “Inherited after Kerberos?” Lance found himself voicing, and Pidge folded a little.

     “Yes.” Was all they replied, colder than they had been.

     Another silent conversation ensued between Hunk and Lance, but it was Lance’s turn to speak their minds.

     “Okay, so what are we looking for?” He grunted as Shay tied off the last stitch and began dressing the wound.

     Pidge, realizing they hadn’t answered the initial question, looked to Allura, who still stood regally and stiff by the door.

     “It’s a device we call a LION. I’ll tell you more if you’re any closer to finding it, but it’s the beginning of officially bringing down the Galra ‘empire’.” She explained diplomatically, adjusting her weight and opening her folded arms to ensure sincerity came across to the others in the room.

     “Bringing down the whole ‘empire’?” Hunk asked quietly, uncertain. Shay, from across the meat table, rested her hand on top of his in the middle of her wound dressing to reassure him.

     Lance sighed silently, his fingers ghosting towards what would inevitably be his new scar and eyes finding those of all his friends. “This is sketchy.” He announced, “Allura, beautiful, I trust you.”

     “If you weren’t on that table…” She muttered in reply before making a formal statement. “It’s settled, then. We have three Paladins, a medic—thank you, Shay, we’ll talk details after you’re finished—and Coran will train you all.”

     Hunk and Pidge choked at the notion, but the old man looked proud of himself from the edge of the room.

     “You will also need to enlist the Red Paladin—“

     “Motorcycle Man!” Allura ignored Lance’s outburst fluidly.

     “Eventually. He’s doing good work solo, but his pattern is erratic and he’s too destructive. There’s no subtlety at all. Regardless, we need him on your side. Is that clear, everyone?”

     The fact that they had all gained a commander seemed to settle into the paladins, then, and they all shared a look with one another before nodding.

     Allura nodded back, and exited the room then with Shay to follow her. Coran took the opportunity to jump into explanations about their training, and they all knew that the next two weeks or so, while Lance’s stitches closed, they’d be working their bones off trying to come up to par with the sorts of dangers they faced.

 

* * *

 

     Keith, from the seat of his motorcycle, circled the police block-off three times before deciding to get a closer look quietly. From his position on the street, motorcycle helmet still on, he could see a bloody knife still on the ground, a puddle of blood by the building two down from the start of the blockade, and the trail of blood leading from the center of the road to the side of the puddle. He knew not to stick around when someone started whispering behind him, and thought deeply on what he knew about the supposed “Blue Paladin” and his teammates as he rode home. He had heard the name, of course, but if it was these types of activities he was getting himself into so regularly, Keith thought he might have to learn it a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't tell, this is going to be a little bit jumpy of a story. If anyone wants me to post a timeline, I don't mind drawing out the one I have scribbled down in my notes if it's confusing. While the beginning two chapters were mostly Lance, I'll be bringing multiple perspectives into it as well as the story adjusts to more characters, as you can see in this one here. I considered adding dates to the different scenes to keep things consistent, but ultimately felt like they were unnecessary, so if anyone has any objections to my decision I don't mind setting dates up either.
> 
> The literal worst part of writing this is remembering all the different names to use at different times. Allura and everyone else calls Pidge Katie in civilian form, but they're Pidge to Hunk and Lance in their paladin times, and the Green Paladin to Allura and Coran. Lance is Blue to the team, but Blue Boy to Keith because he didn't know about him entirely, and Lance alone outside of herowork. Hunk is Yellow to the Paladins/Team, Buddy to Lance, and Big Guy to Keith. Keith is Motorcycle Man to Blue, Mullet Man to Lance, the Red Paladin to the newspapers and speculating team. Shay is Precious to everyone (no but I love her).  
> ^I wrote that mostly for myself, don't worry.  
> Eventually Coran and Allura will get codenames, and Keith and Shiro will join the fray, and let me tell you right now I'm feverish at the notion of all those names.
> 
> ANYWAY SO  
> I'm so done with this chapter. I've reread it roughly four hundred times. Save me. Somebody explain what a beta really is and why I need one. Other than that, if you guys see any errors, just let me know. I try to grab most on my skimming rereads, but I'm only human.
> 
> The next chapter shouldn't be too long because, like I said, I've got the next couple completely planned out, but I'm unable to give a firm date at the time, sorry! School's eating me and I have to be at an out of state wedding next week, but it shouldn't be more than a week or two!


	4. Enter the Red Paladin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern day memes and slang are finally appropriately used, Coran as per expectations is the equivalent of an aged and wizened superhero, Allura...doesn't care???, the team is increasingly aware of Pidge's need to sleep, Keith makes super bad decisions, Shiro exists, and Hunk is seriously mulling over his inclusion in this team in light of the latest traumatic events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay it's Keiiiiithhhh
> 
> This is also another longer chapter, but I think I'm actually pretty comfortable with this length. There was originally going to be a whole bunch of more shit included here, but I had to push it away to the next in fear of having to cut at a more awkward place, so the next chapter will either be the longest, or I'll find a nice break before the official "Enter the Black Paladin" chapter (I'd really rather not do that though because I like consistency a fucking lot, and have too many specific plans for chapter happenings to even dream of things being "filler" chapters--honestly I could go on real and angry rants about filler product I get SO HEATED).

     “Do you know what time it is?”

     Despite the ease in her mother’s tone, Katie jumped, swearing and spinning reflexively. Her kubotan was tucked away for safekeeping, along with most of her paladin “uniform”, but she was still on edge from the general high that came from patrolling.

     “Mom.” She breathed, and Collen Holt looked unimpressed at her daughter’s defensive stance. “Yes.” It was useless to weave around obvious things in the Holt household—they’re scientists, after all, and they love their answers—so it didn’t even occur to Katie to lie or sugarcoat for her mother.

     “It’s a school night, Katie.” Colleen said softly, all gentleness and motherly warmth as she reached forward to grasp her daughter’s arms and examine them. “Have you done your homework?” The first aid kit was already open on the coffee table to her left, and the conversation was mostly idle.

     Katie sat gingerly at the edge of the nearby armchair in their living room, unable to hide her ghost of a smile as Gunther, their little bull terrier, hopped up to rest in the cushion space between her back and the back of the chair. “Yeah. I got it done before I went OW—” The antiseptic stung on her scrapes, and she relished the fact that she could be babyish in this small moment with just her mom. Colleen, at least, seemed amused by her slight pout.

     “Even your English?” She challenged, knowing her daughter even in the cool twilight zone that was a person’s three in the morning behavior.

     Katie snorted. “ _Especially_ my English. That essay is rekt.”

     “Wrecked?”

     “Rekt, mom.”

     “Wrecked.”

     It was a familiar routine of generational slang gap humor, and it never ceased to make the two of them laugh.

     “I want you home earlier.” Collen said as she unwrapped and stuck bandages to her daughter. It sat unspoken, but they both knew the older woman would rather avoid this behavior altogether.

     Katie only nodded, running her small fingers along the bright plastics now attached to her. “I’ll try. I think they know I’m in school.”

     A hard gaze came from her mother, then, and she ran a comforting thumb across her daughter’s cheek while she stood straight again. “I know you’re being careful…” She started seriously, “But don’t let them find out too much until you’re sure, sweetheart. You’re already in so much danger.”

     Katie’s hand met her mother’s while her expression hardened. “I know, mom. I’m going to go to bed, okay?”

     Colleen nodded, and Katie made sure to take the opportunity to hug her in the quiet moment once she’d stood. When the tender moment was over, Colleen watched her daughter scurry to her room with tenderness in her eyes, ignoring the squeaky sounds of the bedroom window opening and the scuff of sneakers clambering to the roof. Katie was not the stealthiest, but she tried not to worry her mother, which was admirable on its own.

     From her position on the rooftop, she listened to the radios. Under the stars, wrapped in a heavy blanket and idly switching through private radio feeds, she thought of her family. They were approaching near half a year since her father and brother’s disappearances, and Katie, while no closer to finding them, had never lost determination in her search. The bags under her eyes had become a permanent statement of her quest, with even the thought of resting for too long leaving her itching and anxious. She knew, somewhere out there, her father and brother may not have the same luxury.

     She knew they were alive. Both her and her mother had agreed—although Colleen was admittedly a bit reluctant—that there was no potential for them to have died in the way that they were reported to have. Her father and brother were forensic geniuses. They weren’t in any danger while investigating the crime scene they had flown to Kerberos for, and Shiro was more than capable of handling anything as the leader of their investigation. There was no body for any of the three squad members, nor any sign of the area having been marred by a crash. It made no sense. It was far too weak of an excuse for the loss of her family.

     If she drifted her eyes down from the sky, Katie could almost make out where the shore started past the suburban rooftops. Town Square was almost the same distance in the opposite direction. In the dark of the night, the bits of ocean she could see were pitch black, Kerberos completely unseen from the shoreline even with its distance. It was a place shrouded in fog and mystery.

     Her family was alive. Whether they were okay or not was debatable, but they were definitely alive.

     Absentmindedly, Katie reached for her secure radio, the one not being fiddled with for information, and reported. “Green to Blue and Yellow. Don’t go to the west side, squadron cars are grouping there after a robbery to some jewelry store. There’s a fire on Chestnut Street, too. Local warehouse, if you want to do a sweep before the cops register it.” God damn it, Keith. Arson was not always the answer.

     “ _Eagle_ in.” Blue’s voice chirped through the static. “Yellow is ‘Hawk’ now. Thanks for the heads up.”

     “Those heads up are appreciated.” Yellow’s voice cut in, “But I’m not sure about _Hawk_ , really. Wait.” There was a small bit of static as the radio disconnected and reconnected again. “Pidge, go to bed!” His voice was a sudden surprised imploring, and Katie snorted to herself at the notion. “It’s, like, almost four! School night.”

     “Don’t make this weird, Mother Hen.” She harped back.

     “ _Yes._ ” Blue cut in, all approval.

     Hunk came back after a second, sounding at least a bit amused. “I don’t want to come back on the line just to scoff, but….” And the scoffing came.

     “Do we need communication adjustments?” Katie asked thoughtfully, pausing as she heard Thace, his voice a familiar and grating reminder of her quest, over the police station.

     Nobody answered, which was fine, and she traced the mark of the constellations she knew with her eyes, thinking of the guides her father had taught them. Thace was reporting his attendance to the robbery, a little strangely late, and it all went, word-for-word and timestamped, into the notebook on her knee.

     Blue was the first to finally reply, ten minutes later. “Hey, looks like there was nobody in the fire but there’s tire skid marks leaving the area, and a couple of broken laptop parts by the entrance. It’s super hot, too. You ever think about how hot fires are?”

     Without Blue’s own connection breaking, Yellow’s voice came through a little further away. “They’re cool up close when they’re not super dangerous. I hope the firemen hurry up. Anyway, it looks like somebody just ripped it open and took the stuff out.”

     “Keep it, bring it tomorrow.” Keith was going to die, she would make sure of it. Was he hoarding tech now? Could he even do anything with it himself?

     “Affirmative, Pigeon. Hey, how do we feel about Red? Looks like motorcycle tracks to me, and we’re supposed to be recruiting him, but….”

     Katie cut in before he could droll on. “He’s good. I’ll get him to become a team player.” As suspicious as it sounded, she knew it was better than to let his eventual team members not trust him already.

     “Oh—He’s with you?” Yellow sounded rightfully confused, sirens behind the sound of his voice and coming from his own channel now.

     How was the best way to say this? “I know who he is, but he probably doesn’t know I know.” Knowing what people know was becoming a theme with herself, and she sighed.

     “Noted. Pigeon, the lights in a building two down from the warehouse fire are blinking suspiciously. Almost Morse code, but it’s slow and in different rooms.” There were sirens behind Blue’s own voice as well.

     They definitely needed to upgrade communications. The sirens alone were annoying, and then she had no way of seeing video feeds now.

     “I’m taking a video, don’t worry.” Blue rang before she could instruct him. “Hawk, what do you think?”

     “Different words, definitely Morse, but scrambling weirdly. It’s probably a personal cipher system.”

     “The Galra are so extra.”

     “You have to show me first thing tomorrow.” Katie said seriously, breaking off Blue’s tangent and whine.

     After an impossible stretch of silence, Yellow replied, “Only if you go to bed.”

 

* * *

 

     The next day, Keith was out of work, and Katie almost had the nerve to track down wherever he was staying now (he was being secretive about that as well), but was grounded by the pressing matter of figuring out the video.

     It was irresponsible how easily Blue handed his phone over, but the green paladin couldn’t even find themselves surprised when they thought on all the selfies they’d seen him take in uniform. The video was, in total, an hour and a half. There was a break after the forty minute mark, but it picked back up in the next half with Blue’s affirmation through the video that nothing had blinked but the steady light in the upper right corner. The sirens, supposedly down the street, didn’t stop for almost an hour.

     “I can’t believe you had enough battery for this.” Yellow commented lightly. Pidge had been thinking the same thing, but was far too engrossed in studying the video. It was imported to their laptop and sped up, to make it easier to count and study without being as tedious of a project.

     “I stole Jennifer’s power bank before I went out. Good idea, in the end, but man was she mad.” Blue lamented, watching over Pidge’s head as they scribbled down sequences.

     Jennifer was the oldest daughter still living in the blue paladin’s home. The more comfortable the three of them had gotten with one another, the more he would vaguely namedrop, especially if their yellow paladin was present, with them being so familiar with one another. Over the last few weeks, Pidge had collected names and random stories, but hadn’t dived on the information, knowing (at least for the moment) that it wasn’t important. When Yellow shushed him sometimes, gentle as it was, as a reminder of their privacy, Blue held a hard look in his eyes that matched the one Pidge wore themselves so frequently. In a way, he, too, was out here for his family.

     “Do you read Morse code?” They asked, peering up at the much taller young man and instinctively slapping Yellow’s hand away from their scanner, which they knew fascinated the engineer.

     Blue perked up but shook his head. “I recognize it, but outside of the brief lesson when I was in…er….” He seemed to falter, but pushed past his own fumble smoothly, “Some of my classes when I was younger. It wasn’t detailed.”

     “It seems weird to be using Morse code, or such a lengthy cipher. If it were Galra, which really it probably is, wouldn’t it be way easier to radio or… _anything_ not using lights?” Yellow, ever the logical and wary, voiced his concerns.

     After a moment of silent thought, Blue sat beside Yellow and leaned against him, sprawling his left leg over the big guy and grunting. “We could just look up a translator.”

     Pidge had already been in the process of it, but looked thoughtfully across the city rooftops in a moment of pause. “Let’s go see if we can get video feeds.” They announced, snapping their laptop closed and sliding everything into their over-large backpack. The other two didn’t move, and Yellow’s large hand was innocently kneading the area of Lance’s left outer thigh, knowing his best friend’s stitches were itchy and almost healed.

     “We should get the video first, make sure it’ll be safe to approach the place, and _then_ we should see if we can get into their data. Something doesn’t feel right.” Lance said, oddly less amused than he usually carried himself.

     Pidge bristled, but couldn’t fully protest the rationale that came from him. After a moment, they responded, “Fine. I’m going then. I’ll get the code done and let you guys know what I find.” Without waiting for any proper responses, they slipped down the fire escape, almost dangerous to reach at their height, and descended alone.

     It was only ten at night, but, rather than go straight to finding Keith, Pidge thought about her mother with the first aid kit open on the coffee table. Unable to shake the thought, they decidedly headed home.

 

* * *

 

     When Keith, the next day, didn’t find his boxes of dough in their place he almost snapped at the idea that Lance had hidden them. It was to his entire and immense surprise, then, that they were just…where Keith had left them at the edge of the freezer. There wasn’t typically a day where Lance didn’t organize the freezer to be near perfect. In other aspects of his life, Keith imagined Lance couldn’t be anything but a hot mess (he really showed that type of character in everything he did), but his freezer section and organizing were always methodical and admirably a job well done.

     In short, he was suspicious. His section, as he left it, was awkwardly clustered and messy. As uncomfortable as it was to admit it, he didn’t have…the weird skill that some people had that allowed them to fit things where they needed them to fit. He always allowed Shiro, before he’d been officially brought onto the police force, to figure out their freezer section. It was easy to remember the completely domestic satisfaction that came across his brother’s face whenever he had fit all of the leftovers into a questionably suitable sized container, or his high-five requests whenever they bought things at their local thrift store that were eyeballed in size and fit perfectly. The freezer section dedicated to the bakery was no exception to Shiro’s casual superpower, and when he had been around it was always well organized, stocked, and nothing overflowed.

     He missed Shiro. He also really hated organizing the freezer items. Was there a secret? A particular way to align the racks or the buckets? He was far too prideful to ask _Lance_ , of all people, who would never let it go in their ridiculous “rivalry” or whatever the lankier boy was calling it now. They weren’t even in the same department! There was nothing to fight about! In the end, their interactions came down to their stupid freezer debates, and Keith settled on the fact that either Lance would fix things for him to try and prove his worth in spite of him, or he would leave things alone.

     Leaving it alone wasn’t really the routine, though. Keith remembered, as he lifted the boxes, the slight jerk of Lance’s shoulder a week or two ago, and buried the question brewing in his mind of the boy’s health before it had even fully formed. Lance was a capable, obnoxious guy that was no concern of his, and he could easily take care of himself.

     A little after noon, Katie found and cornered Keith in the walls of the bakery racks. Before she could get a real question out, he was back to piping flowers, not wanting her to get the wrong idea of where his attention truly lied.

     “I need you to do me a favor,” She started, voice low and suspicious, “A few, actually.”

     Keith kept himself occupied with the cake, relenting nothing to the inquisitive girl easily. “Shoot.”

     “I need you to watch a video for me and decipher the code.”

     “Why would I know how to do that?”

     Her immediate, louder than necessary reply was, “Fuck you, Keith, don’t make me bring up the _National Treasure_ phase.” He didn’t have to look to know that Hunk would be curiously peering from the kitchen, trying to eavesdrop. Katie had too much fucking dirt. “It’s probably Morse code.”

     Keith sighed, finished the last flower of his cake carefully, and turned fully to the teenager. “Fine. Show me.” He didn’t need to ask why, he trusted the gremlin of a teenage girl and knew he wouldn’t get direct answers anyway.

     “It’s over an hour long. I sped it up to be about twenty minutes, but it’s complicated. Can I send it to you?”

     “No internet.” Keith grunted, holding a hand out for the phone he was no doubt going to be handed. When she moved to leave, he paused, her precarious phone in hand, and grunted out, “I’m—You know I still have work to do, right?”

     “You can do both!” She rolled her eyes, “And I’m going to talk to Allura for a while, so you should be fine.” And with a wave, she was gone. Across the bakery and kitchen counters, Keith watched Hunk’s eyes follow Katie before flicking to his own. They were lightened, curious, and Keith turned away to play the video in a haste, satisfyingly hidden by the bakery racks again.

     Eventually, he decided to mute the thing (some weird guy was just breathing loudly and humming every now and then, sounding strange and warped in the speed adjustment) and had no problem focusing on it as he did more mundane aspects of his work. He recognized the building, the timestamp, the distant trail of smoke in the dark sky, and the code. All of which set him on edge.

     Katie, with her usual grace, helped herself into Allura’s office. The owner was on the phone, and regarded the younger of the two with a vague wave. It sounded like she was talking about a shipment of oranges, but it was hard to determine exactly what the point of exasperation was.

     While she took care of that business, Katie filtered through the hidden door. It wasn’t impossible to see, but was impressively concealed by the attention-drawing portrait of an older man, looking much like Allura and definitely a younger version of Alfor, with an almost toddler aged Allura beside him. Through the secret passage, there was a long channel of a hallway that Katie had learned the proper way through to get to the room she needed, which she had ceremoniously dubbed “Allura’s Creepy Research Lab” the second she had entered for the first time. When Allura called Altean Markets a “castle”, it wasn’t just out of fondness for her late father, entirely, but rather the near ridiculous amount of staircases that led underground and into long passageways and basement systems more intricate than Katie herself could have hoped to map already. She was working on it. Slowly. There were other tasks at hand she had to divide her attention between.

     Allura’s Creepy Research Lab was beyond interesting. There were tools Katie herself hadn’t even mastered, always something new to tinker with, but mostly she spent her time there pouring privately over both her and Allura’s father’s research notes. There were thousands of pages on the lions alone, and as fascinating as it was, they made her more anxious as to her family’s predicament.

     Allura had told her almost hesitantly that they had lost two lions before her father had died, and while she had her suspicions, she couldn’t say particularly where they were to make retrieving them possible, even if they wanted to. That settled disturbingly in Katie’s stomach, knowing what the lions were capable of doing, and made her focus on her studying for entirely different reasons.

 

* * *

 

     When Lance had arrived at Altea that afternoon, he was immediately ushered with Hunk by Coran into the hidden meat room, where Lance had been stitched and was now changing hastily into his Blue Paladin uniform. Pidge entered, fully uniformed, suspiciously as soon as they were almost finished—Hunk’s squeak of protest almost echoed as he hastily pulled on his hideous shorts the rest of the way hastily—and sat on top of the previously sanitized table to wait. Coran, the entire time, had been going on about his younger days on the police force, along with his military service stories peppered in, and spoke about all he could teach them, but Yellow and Pidge remained skeptical. When they grunted in confusion at Blue’s (suspicious, fun-loving Blue) lack of protest, he only snickered in reply, too close to the old man to think of his talents lightly.

     From the meat room, they were led carefully through a series of hallways they tried to memorize, and followed down stairs that eventually opened into a large basement, nearly the size of two Altean Markets. There was a long silence, then Pidge spoke up first.

     “I read something about Disney World having an intricate underground system for employees to use to get between parks and locations quickly. Is…Altean Markets part of something like that?”

     Coran smiled, though not to his fullest. “There are large hangers of sorts that can be entered from different locations, but they haven’t been opened in a very long time. There were plans to have similar underground works across the city. You’ll probably see in…notes somewhere, _but_ that’s not for tonight!”

     Pidge, clearly thinking it was a very important and relevant topic, looked miffed, but didn’t protest. Before they could move on, however, Blue spoke up.

     “Hangers? As in multiple?” How many giant rooms could Altean Markets have access to below?

     Coran took long strides to the center of the giant room. “Why, yes! This is the white hanger!” That made sense, with its bright white…everything. “We’ll do most of our focus training here, as well as strategizing and basic team building exercises.”

     “Team building?” Yellow started, peering at the white walls, “You mean like—“

     “Trust falls! Spider webs! Lifeboats!” The older man cried happily, “But! None of that specifically tonight. No, tonight, you’re all just going to beat me up.”

     There was another pause—a rapidly becoming common occurrence with Coran’s declarations—before Blue spoke evenly, “My stitches…” His hands fumbled in front of him, as if grasping for a tangible excuse.

     Coran only laughed. “Why, I know you’re fully healed by now! No avoiding it! Just throw yourselves at me!” He took another long stride until he was in the direct center and waited, eyebrows lifted expectantly and hands folded behind his back.

     “Isn’t this the strategy and trust fall room? You just said that. Why are we beating you up?” Yellow logically asked, clearing his throat and trying to stall if not avoid this completely. He cared about Coran, undoubtedly, and did not want to see the older man try to hold his own against two capable young adults and a ruthless teenager.

     Coran laughed, “The red hanger, where our combat room is, needs to be reevaluated structurally before we go in there. It’s the furthest from here, and was built last, so we need to give it a once over just in case some nasty little creatures have wormed in or, of course, there’s been a cave-in.”

     With a thick swallow, Yellow continued, “So, uh…there’s chances of cave-ins?”

     The old man said nothing, his eyes twinkling with challenge and mirth.

     Weaponless, Blue decidedly took the silence and charged first, followed by Pidge almost immediately and Yellow with a tinge of reluctance.

     It was evident almost instantly to the three that this was to prove a point, not particularly to learn anything quite yet. Coran brought them down with embarrassing ease, barely breaking a sweat, and they went through countless rounds of the same sequence.

     It was the saving grace of Allura, of all people, that allowed Coran to give them a well-earned break. She came only after the tenth or eleventh round of the paladins having their pride handed to them, and only handed Pidge’s phone to them as they heaved on the ground in the aftermath of a takedown. When it was taken, the princess of the castle allowed her narrowed eyes to reach all three of them individually.

     Pidge seemed confused, however, and broke into the silence before Allura could voice her opinion. “Did he leave anything else?”

     Allura shook her head and turned towards the cheerful tutor of the group. “Coran?”

     “I fell on my knee once.” Was the report, embarrassingly accurate as towards the skills of the group, “The yellow one shows the most promise for hand-to-hand combat, but he seems scared, I believe.”

     Yellow, still panting from the toll of the fight, pointed at Coran and nodded frantically in agreement.

     “You’re practically useless with no weapons, then?” Allura’s tone was warning, as if ready to reprimand any protests or actual answers that would come, “How on _Earth_ have you not been shot already?”

     Pidge was occupied with their phone, flipping through videos and messages of any indication Keith had discovered the meaning to the message. Blue and Yellow were shooting glances to one another, but it took strength to speak up to Allura in any situation, be it employee or hero-in-training.

 

* * *

 

     Keith rode into the junkyard, as he did every night, with the lights off and relying on mental memory of the obstacles. The shack in the back corner of the plot of land was pitch black, as the rest of the yard, but at the edge of the stairs into the small structure, a pair of glowing eyes greeted him. As he parked effortlessly and tore his helmet off, he made a soft shushing sound to try and welcome the cat, but it fled off immediately, Keith’s soft laugh following after it. The few stray cats were no surprise to him, and he even welcomed the minor distraction before he made his way into the pitch black hut of a home.

     The only light to turn on was a bare lightbulb in the center of the ceiling, hovering over the makeshift table he’d put together with cinderblocks for legs and a large piece of plywood for its surface. On the back wall, a squeaky and largely abused futon bed and a small hot plate and pot on the floor were the only signs of true life in the area. His priority was to the wall on his left, however, and he took great care to gaze over what he’d posted to the giant corkboard the night before. He was known to make very important discoveries late at night, barely legible with sleeplessness.

     When everything looked in order (all the lines and leads of his latest photos and other evidence crossing brilliant with colored floss to keep everything organized), he finally fished what he’d deciphered from the video Katie had shown him out of his pocket. It hadn’t taken him long to uncover the message hidden in the cipher hidden in Morse code, and he was mildly suspicious of how easy it had been, but his instincts were telling him he was close to _something_ , and he was well on the right track. He almost felt bad, withholding the information entirely from Katie at least for tonight, but he knew there was a good possibility of her trying to go out on her own, and that just wasn’t going to fly. Tomorrow, he would give the information to her with the condition she would stay safe, and that seemed reasonable to him despite Shiro’s voice in the back of his mind, coaxing him for more. Katie could take care of herself, just as he himself.

     With resolve, Keith pinned a note with the words “PRISON BREAK TRANSFER REQUEST VREPIT SA 117” scribbled across it to his impromptu city map, stepped away, and tried not to think of the implications of those words. Getting his hopes up was not a usual for him, and he kept it that way, but the numbers dug at him.

 

* * *

 

     Though Yellow and Blue were wary after the fiasco that was their training with Coran, when Pidge came to them in the white hanger, looking both ecstatic and like they’d seen a ghost, they agreed without hesitation to the intelligence mission proposed. It took a wary dismissal from Allura and a firm nod from Coran—though Pidge had assured them none of the three needed the approval, they were just abiding by formality and were going to go regardless of consent—before they were decently comfortable with the outing, but the insistence of the Green Paladin brought an unspoken excitement. Before they knew it, they were tucked into an alley (the same one Blue had taken the video in), watching Pidge click curiously and frantically at their laptop.

     While excited, there was a mild sense of irritation that came from the lack of immediate access to the camera feeds, and when an image finally did appear, it was dark and grainy. “I’m enhancing the contrast now,” Pidge addressed before the other two could question aloud. With some fiddling, they could just make out dark figures standing over stretchers in the center of the room.

     A faint crackle came from the laptop speakers, and they were graced with the audio feed’s overlapping voices. After a few discussions died, a hard scream tore through the room, stilling the figures around the bed. After it quieted, a familiar voice snapped, “Why is he still conscious?”

     “Iverson.” Pidge and Blue breathed out simultaneously, pausing to share a look.

     “It’s better for immediate diagnostics if he resembles some stage of wakefulness.” Someone replied. Two of the figures disappeared to areas off camera.

     “Please,” The agonized voice called, “Please, I have to—Stop!” He screamed again, and Yellow flinched from behind Pidge.

     “Is there any other feed to latch onto? Who exactly are we looking for? It is a _who_ , right?” He rushed, rubbing a gloved hand over his mouth to mask some of his frantic uncertainty.

     Pidge cleared their throat, fingers twitching across the keyboard. “Yes. Let me see, just a second.” Just as their typing ceased and their finger hovered over the space bar, a crackling voice, much sharper than the screams or directions, broke through.

     “This is the last one, correct? 9875?” Pidge couldn’t restrain their startled gasp at the numbers. “He’s being moved back to the ring once this is done.”

     “Takashi Shirogane.” The Green Paladin wheezed, almost shaking as he screamed again, only to be cut off into abrupt silence. “That’s—“

     “Shiro! That dude’s, like, my hero! What are they _doing_ to him?” Blue cried, standing suddenly, “We have to get in there!”

     “Pidge—Okay, guys, I hate to be the voice of reason—always—but we don’t even know what else is in there!” Yellow stood, too, holding an arm out loosely in the event one of them decided to run.

     The keyboard was attacked with a new vengeance. “We need a plan. I’m scanning for movement on other cameras now. We could sneak in?” A hasty hand moved to shove their slipping shades back into place.

     “No, we need a distraction before that. Something to make the extraction safe.” Blue voiced, sounding plainly worried but rational.

     “No motion detected on the upper levels.” As soon as the report left their lips, an explosion sounded towards the building, and all three heads whipped up. Their eyes were met with the view of thick smoke pouring from the crumbling building adjacent to the warehouse they’d been tapping.

     Yellow was the first to yelp, “Did that just _blow up_!? What was that!?”

     “A distraction!” Pidge announced incredulously, shoving their laptop into their backpack after the image of the shadowy figures leaving Shiro’s side came across. A few people poured out from the mouth of the building and rushed to the remains of the adjacent warehouse. As soon as they had rushed away, a bright red compact car rounded the corner of the opposite end of the street. It parked with a wild screech, not even a second passing before a dark figure fling itself from the driver’s seat, racing into the building.

     “For him! A distraction for him!” Pidge continued, scrambling out of the alley with the other two close behind.

     “Who is that?” The Yellow Paladin asked, breathless and wary behind the other two.

     Blue whooped, throwing a hand into the air as they approached, “Motorcycle Man!”

     “Are you sure?” As low groan came from Yellow as they approached the building.

     Inside, Keith was throwing artful punches to the few scientists left in the dim room. The lighting wasn’t helped by his helmet visor, but he understood its necessity as he heard more people enter the building behind him. His fingers itched to grasp at the wooden sword strapped to his back, if anything so he could end the fight quicker, but there were only three scientists, and it would ultimately be a waste of effort with the knowledge of how fast the first had gone down.

     “Who else would run around in that bright red helmet?” He heard a loud voice laugh in the hallway and almost snorted in reply, recognizing the Blue Paladin almost instantly.

     After the other two scientists fell, he rushed to see the patient on the table, wary and uncertain of what he’d find, and almost didn’t believe his eyes. Stiff fingers pulled the handkerchief down from the lower half of his face as his other hand pulled at the patient’s face.

     “Shiro…?” Keith breathed, almost uncertain of himself. He knew he’d find _something_ here, but not the whole end goal of his search.

     “In here!” A voice called behind him as he cut the binds to the table. “Yellow, guard the car! No, no you don’t, Motorcycle! I’m saving Shiro!”

     As soon as he attempted to lift Shiro on his own, the Blue Paladin was at the limp man’s other side, grinning broadly at Keith in the dim lighting. “Long time no see.” He drawled as they shuffled quickly out of the room.

     “Heard about you getting shot.” Was all Keith grunted in response, souring Blue’s mood quickly.

     By the time they’d made it to the hallway and halfway to the exit again, the Yellow Paladin was there at the end. “They’re on their way back, and they do _not_ look happy!” He implored, rushing forward towards the three.

     Blue made a startled and disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. “We can’t if Iverson is—Hey! Can we catch a ride with you?”

     Keith gave no reply, passing his side of Shiro to the teammate of Blue’s—Yellow, if his clothes were any lame indicator—and rushing out to the beat up car he’d driven over. He started it in seconds, watching out the window as a few Galra members poured out of the ruin of the adjacent building.

     “Pidge!” Blue all but screeched over his shoulder as the pair made it out of the doorway with Shiro. Yellow was inside the car first, pulling Shiro in behind him and wincing as the car visibly shifted.

     “I-Is this thing going to hold us all?” He asked as Blue slid over the hood with impressive ease and flew into the passenger seat.”

     “No!” Keith groaned, watching a grunt approach quickly and shifting gears just as fast, halting when the Blue Paladin’s hand was on his own to still it.

     They met eyes through the visor and stupid hardware goggles, and both of them seemed to freeze.

     “GO!” The Green Paladin roared as they arrived and practically flung themselves into the backseat, shoving themselves under Shiro’s awkwardly bent legs,

     Keith didn’t need another word, reversing fast into the nearest approaching man and tearing down the street without a second thought. He ignored the collective screams expertly as they maneuvered a series of speedy turns. Distantly, he heard the backseat door finally close and Pidge trying to get words across. “Why am I holding him!?” He thought he heard them say, ignoring the stupid question in favor of focusing on his driving.

     “Big guy! Get in the middle and stay there!” He instructed, spinning the steering wheel sharply to swing through a parking lot and garden. Beside him, Blue fumbled with the sissy bar and screamed. “What are you doing!? You’re going to kill us all!”

     “Shut up and trust me!” Keith roared, impatient and angling them for the space between two buildings. They weaved the path, unfollowed and barely fitting the small car in the narrow passageways and tight turns. The passengers never dimmed in their screams throughout each kick of the gears, and managed to get louder still at the sight of a small fence at the end of the alley. An endless chorus of “No, no, no!” rang out, and Keith, knowing they were safe from followers now, couldn’t help but feel the thrill of adrenaline.

     “Yup.” Was all he said, satisfied and heading into the fence at full-speed as he braced himself for the inevitable impact.

     For a moment, the car seemed to soar, and there was a moment of true stillness before they dove downwards and thudded into a heap fifteen feet below. Keith recovered immediately, not allowing himself to think too hard on the mess he’d just made of his latest fix, and swiveled around to survey the damage. As he turned the car’s ignition off, he noted the shock in the Blue Paladin’s face, his knuckles of his right hand white around the sissy bar and other hand fisted into the material of his t-shirt at his chest. It only took a second before his lips quirked, and he was cracking up by the time Keith had fully turned to the other passengers.

     The Yellow Paladin was weeping openly, tears welling in his goggles and making his face paint bleed where they had escaped. Despite his terror, Shiro was tucked safely in his arms. Squished beside them was the Green Paladin, cheek flush against the car window and glasses askew enough for Keith to know exactly who they were, even in the almost pitch darkness of the junkyard.

     “Are you the Red Paladin?” They asked before Keith could say anything, shoving their glasses into place and pushing at the door to get it open.

     “Sure.” Was all he snorted, pulling himself out of the wrecked vehicle and moving to the back to help with Shiro.

     Blue’s laughter died down enough to allow him to console the stunned Yellow Paladin, and finally more questions arose.

     “Is this, like, some terrible Narnia? Where _are_ we?” From Blue.

     “Do you want me to call our medic? Or do you know how to help him?" Hesitantly from Yellow.

     “Why do you set stuff on fire, blow buildings up, and tear apart computers? You need to be careful.” From Pidge, voice all too familiar, challenging, and implicating.

     “Follow me, watch out for the junk piles.” Was Keith’s only reply, lip twitching as he heard the Blue Paladin stumble over a scrap metal sheet and swear.

     Shiro was placed on the futon, the only comfortable place for an unconscious body, once they were inside the shack. Other than his occasional eyebrow twitch and steady breathing, there was almost no indication he was alive at all. Keith couldn’t help but gaze with frustration at Shiro’s right arm, uncomfortable and sweaty under his own helmet and uncertain of what any of tonight’s events meant.

     Introductions were happening, naturally, as there was so little else to do with Keith being so keen on making sure they didn’t snoop. Pidge—or Katie, as it was—was eyeing his pile of electronics he’d collected with a hunger, while Blue and Yellow kept to the side of the shack, mostly conversing uncertainly to themselves, but the lankier of the pair initiated the official conversation.

     “Okay! Motorcycle—Red now, I guess—you already know me, but this is Yellow, or Hawk, and that’s Green, or Pidge.”

     “Right.” Keith, Red, nodded, pulling at the wrists of his fingerless gloves and glad he had kept the lights off, not wanting them to have obvious clues as to who he was. “Nice to meet you.”

     Pidge snorted, and Keith glared, despite them not being able to meet eyes properly in both the visor and shades. When the silence lasted a beat too long, Keith was flooded by a sudden awkwardness of the situation. Strangers and a teenage girl all in his home to observe his unconscious brother.

     Before the thoughts lingered too long, the Yellow Paladin spoke up, “So, uh, what’s your plan for him?” Without giving a chance to answer, he went on, “And uh, if you’re deciding to be a paladin with us, you should talk to Allura and Coran.”

     “Allura and Coran?” Suspicion dripped from Keith’s voice involuntarily.

     Blue stood, making a small noise in the back of his throat as he stretched his left leg before making his way around the room, aimlessly pacing. “You know them?” Yellow continued, “They run Altean Markets. They’re sort of…well, not our leaders, but we’re based there.”

     “Pidge! Call home!” The Blue Paladin cried suddenly, flapping a hand towards them insistently.

     Keith watched the exchange with reserved interest.

     “What?” They checked their phone, grunting, “It’s fine. Go on, Yellow.”

     “No, no, no, no. You call right now. We don’t even know where we are, they’ll never know where to send the search party if you don’t tell them you’re alright.” Blue held a hand in front of Yellow to stop their speech.

     If the Green Paladin hadn’t been wearing their shades, they would all have received their most vicious glare their tiny friend could muster.

     “I’ll meet Allura and Coran.” Keith spared them. “When do you usually gather?”

     “It’s sporadic. I’ll give you a radio next time I see you, and you can just listen there for whenever we’re meeting up.”

     Keith nodded and checked the time for himself, grimacing at the numbers. Almost three in the morning, and he was expected to be at Altea in an hour and a half.

     “Hey, so,” The Yellow Paladin spoke up, “Since none of us really know where we are, and we’re a team now, I’m going to nap. I have work in a few hours and I am _not_ trying to go into zombie mode.”

     Blue stopped pacing again and plopped next to the larger paladin, grunting in agreement as he laid his legs over his friend’s and seemed to make himself comfortable immediately on his shoulder.

     “I’ll wake you up in an hour.” While suspicious and surprised, Keith was tired from the increasing changes in his life that had been made that night, and reasoned leading them out on his way to work was the best option.

     “I’ll stay and watch Shiro when you’re all gone. Yellow can bring Shay tomorrow to look at him.” Pidge offered, sitting on the floor opposite to the pair already comfortable. “She works at Altea with Allura and Coran and acts as our medic.”

     So her name _was_ Shay! For a split and tired second, Keith wondered what Hunk would think if he knew the girl from produce he liked was helping illegal street heroes tend wounds. 

     From the pair, one of them tiredly mumbled. “You have _school._ ” Pidge ignored their protest.

     “Don’t snoop.” Keith said, ignoring the following grunt from his friend, “You can see the electronics only. Good night.”

     “Good-night~” A voice that was definitely Blue’s sang in reply, all exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm screaming eternally
> 
> Lmao Keith highkey hit somebody with a car? That's the most innocent thing that's going to happen in this fic guys. Like it gets way worse as we go on for the sake of justice.
> 
> Right so I'm looking for a beta for a lot of reasons, but mostly because I really like to...not...have to re-read my own chapters because they're thousands of words I've already practically memorized by writing and typing them, and while I don't think proofreading is a waste of time, it's a waste of my OWN time, if that makes sense--I just work a lot and go to school full time and really like not worrying about that. Anyway, if y'all know anyone who's looking, I'm looking too. 
> 
> Also hEY I GOT THIS UP ALMOST EXACTLY TWO WEEKS FROM THE LAST ONE FUCK YEAH
> 
> Also also: Thanks to everyone who checked out this by association of my Klance oneshot "We'll Be Fine"! I didn't expect so much reception and it means a lot to anyone who's checked out this or that! It's been a constant positive boost in my life just to see how many people had seen and kudos and commented on either fics, and I've been nothing but proud of myself for my work lately, which is a nice change lmao-
> 
> On that note, I'll have a new oneshot up within the week if not this weekend alone! But no spoilers, I guess. I'm just excited whoops.
> 
> NOTE: I went back and changed a buncha formatting things while I was on here for easier reading. If anyone has any suggestions about that then I'm all ears, because I'm definitely wingin' this.


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